


Heart of Winter

by LightofNights



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - Fandom, Thorki - Fandom, Thunderfrost - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asgard, Gladiators, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, Intersex Loki, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, Light Bondage, Loki Lies, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild S&M, Multi, Thor Is Not Stupid, Thorki - Freeform, Æsir | Aesir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofNights/pseuds/LightofNights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In equal measure of love and hate they are eternally bound with a bond more powerful than any Gods or fate. </p><p>Loki will stop at nothing to save his only remaining sibling from the clutches of the 'monster'. But to save him to what? To freedom? Or to certain death?</p><p>Thor is struggling to escape from his brothers' shadows; desperate to be taken seriously and respected as an upstanding member of the court. But it is not so easy. First lesson in gaining respect - know that you cannot demand it by stomping your metaphoric feet.</p><p>They are means to each others ends. But that does not mean they cannot learn a little something along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gladiator

It was cold out, so cold that Thor thought his fingers might break if he were to uncurled them from his cock - the thought passed through his sleep fogged mind. He had woken with his fist wrapped around the hard flesh and desire twitching and shuddering over his body like a hot tide. The dream was wrapped just as tightly around his mind.

Red eyes like flames, cerulean skin like ice and words like poison.  Bites that send pleasure to the point of pain shuddering through him, and racking nails that threaten to unmake him - The wild Jotun was still vivid in his mind; solid in his hand.  

Wind struck the stone tower and went booming around the roof. The wood paneling creaked. A chilly draft crept in through the tight gaps between the stones, making him shiver.

The fire in the hearth had died out in the night.

Thor could imagine that he smell the Jotun’s scent of blood and frost on the soft furs beneath him. The memory of his strength, his vigor and aggression…the memory of taunting words that were whispered against his ear…He groaned.

He rubbed his nipples, hard and itching from more than just the cold. He kept his eyes close, thinking of the Jotun, his cock tight in his fingers and mind yearning for the night.

He surged into the memory, groaning; his hands moving with mounting urgency as he chased his pleasure. He’d make it last as long as he could bear it.

_On your knees Aesir dog…_

Thor came with a startled cry, spilling his seed. He panted, his heart pounded.

For a long moment he simply lay with his eyes close, half dozing. He would have gladly slept the rest of the day away, except that it would be a waste and his brother would worry. The last thing he needed was for his brother to find him curled up in bed with questionable bruises that he did not care to explain.

Reluctantly he got up. Yawned sleepily and shivered in the cold as he grabbed his black pants and tunic that the Jotun had placed neatly at the foot of the bed. He pulled them on and gave himself a quick check in the mirror to make sure that none of the bruises were visible before calling the servants to draw him a warm - no, scorching bath. He hurt all over - even places where the Jotun did not flog.

He walked over to the wooden table and poured himself a cold glass of water while he waited. He sat down and drank deeply, not realizing how thirsty he was until he had actually started drinking.

Last night had been...amazing...

He would not let shame touch him - at least not yet. He did not want to consider whether it was a mistake for him to let his guard down. He did not want to consider the consequence if the Jotun decide to tattle. Then again, who would believe the runt?

He took another gulp of his ice water, and plucks a grape from the bowl on the table. It did not take long for a maid to come knocking, informing him that his bath is ready.

Thor followed her across the stone corridor. His toes curled as the cold assaulted his bare feet.

The bathing chamber was nowhere as elegant as it was in the palace, but it was acceptable. The bathtub was made of slick hardwood and so were most of the furnishing in the chamber that was fogging with steam from the tub. The steam clung to his skin. The stone beneath his bare feet were damp.

When dainty fingers reached to lift Thor’s tunic, he jerked; turning at once to the surprised maid. His heart pounded against his chest.

“Your Grace?” She inquired.

“I thank you for your assistance” Thor said. “But there is no need for it today. You are dismissed”

The maid hesitated, but nodded.

It wasn’t until she left that Thor let out a breath he did not know he was holding. He locked the door for safe measure. He did not want anyone walking in on him.

He removed his clothes and went to the fogged mirror, giving it a quick wipe. He turned his back to the mirror and craned his head over his shoulder.

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when he saw it. Aside from the angry nail marks that clawed down his flesh, he was bruised with lashes that were each an approximate of three fingers apart down his entire back. Six going in a single direction and one that cuts across them - like a six bar gate. 

Each stroke of the riding crop had been fire, but they did not split his skin. It was with just enough force to set his entire back smoldering sweetly from neck to hip.

Thor had to wonder. How did a gladiator come to know the method of delivering such sweet pain that was not meant to harm or incapacitate another? He doubts that the Jotun’s master had been imparting such knowledge to him. The Aesir master did not seem to be a man that would be interested in that sort of thing. Then again, neither does the Golden prince of Asgard.

He thanked the Norns that it was the dead of winter. There would be little reason for him to go shirtless, even while training.

His stomach growled in hunger. He heaved a sigh. He prayed to the Norns that last night was not a mistake.

He untied his braid and sank into the roasting tub. His eyes close, his lips parted in a silent moan, as the heat of the water soothed his aching muscles and warm bruises.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A gladiator had died from his three days old wound in the early hours of the morning. A misstep in the fighting pit, and a blade was wrenched into his guts and tore out from his side, spilling his entrails. There was no chance of surviving that. But if it was any consolation, his last dash to victory impressed the youngest Odinson enough to be a guest in their master’s house.

A dirty sheet covered the bronze body. His angular face was no longer contorted in agony as it had in the last few hours of his life. He was at peace, for all the pain and torment had left him, and would never touch him again. Into the arms of paradise he goes, or so his brethrens tell themselves and hope.

His thick ebony hair was combed back and what little possession the fire demon owned was placed beside him in a little wooden box.

Loki stood at the front of the burning pyre. The wave of heat making him light-headed but he stood with his back straight.

Scarlet eyes watched at the flames that spits and pops, crackling up the old dry wood as the fire demon’s kin started singing the hymn of their homeland, and slowly, they were joined by the other gladiators who had by now heard the burial songs of every race. This one was a song that pleaded to their Gods for mercy, to welcome the spirit of the fallen demon home at long last; to be soothed in his arms, and to be made whole.

No more pain. No more tears. No more sorrow.

Their voices were deep and dark; resonating through the very core of him and tightening his throat. He pressed his lips together, as the flames rose ever higher; consuming the demon along with all of his dreams and hopes, reducing them all to ashes and dust. Even in death, the mark of slavery and damnation about the demon’s neck still bound him.

Loki could feel his eyes watering. He told himself it was from the heat, from the flames. His fingers tightened over the five ice charms spelt to never melt in his hand; letting them dig into his palm. He started singing along, softly at first then louder, as if the words were a secret prayer.

A large rough hand came to lid on his shoulder gently.

Loki reached up to hold it and squeezed as the melody trickled from his lips.

 _"Lord, that I may see him again…"_  A desperate prayer.

The light was just starting to touch the sky when they finished.

Loki was first to leave, crossing the snow covered bailey to the gladiator’s quarters. It was his turn to clean it. To remove the matted hay and scrub the greasy stone floor beneath, before bringing in the fresh ones from the barn.

He wound the rough rope threaded with the five ice charms about his wrist four times before fastening it securely.

The charms were gifted to him by his sibling an age ago. One could make out the little ice sculpture to depict a griffin, the head of an ice wolf, a falcon, a snake and a thunderbird only if one actually knew what they were supposed to be. If not, one might think them odd looking ice pieces. But Loki treasured it, and wore it every day; removing them only when he services patrons that hires him for the night.

He did not need their questions on it as some are wont to do when they see something Jotun.

He ran his fingers over the snake, feeling the rough cut of ice.

 _"Lord, that he may live…That I may see his face, hear his voice and touch him again…"_ Loki pleaded to any God that might hear him.

 _He_ is waiting for him. Loki needs to get to him, somehow…

Loki refuse to believe that it is his fate to die a slave in a foreign land; never to return, never to see Jotunheim again. He refuses to believe, he refuses to accept…The mere thought of such fate frightens him beyond anything he could put in words, as he tries in his every waking moment not to think or even consider it; least he fall into crippling despair and give into weeping.

“Liesmith!” A voice called.

Loki quickened his pace, but the intruder caught up with him easily enough and blocked his path.

It was Tyr - another Jotun their master owned.

“You should be getting ready to train” Loki said. “The master will not be pleased”

“The master is busy entertaining his royal guests to notice anything for a while”

“The handler will punish you”

“Nay. The tournament is in a week, he wouldn’t risk damaging me” Tyr said confidently. “You are not getting rid of me”

Loki said nothing. He started walking.

Tyr followed. He wanted to put a gentle hand on Loki’s shoulder but did not dare to risk it a second time. Loki would not appreciate it.

They walked for a moment in silence.

Tyr didn’t like the silence. He racked his mind for something to say.

The winter wind roared, whipping back Tyr’s dark undercut and Loki’s long ebony tresses; the cutting cold caressing their cerulean skin as if a sweet summer’s breeze on the realm of ice in another lifetime.

“What was the Golden prince like?” Tyr asked. “Is he brutish? Foul? Or perhaps a great lover like me?” He teased.

“You a great lover?” There was a hint of amusement in Loki’s voice. “Do you mean for me to choke on my spit? I will sooner die than call you that”

“You wound me”

“And my heart bleeds with the revelation”

Tyr smiled. “So? What was he like?” 

Loki shrugged. “You know I think little of Lordlings and princes that idealize the life of gladiators”

“There is a thrill to battling in the arena I suppose. I imagine some would find it appealing”

“Then to them I say, they can take my wretched collar and put in upon their necks. They can take my place and sleep upon the stone floor and hay that stunk of blood, death, sweat and filth while I lay on their beds of fur. They can eat my stale bread and salted meat while I dine on the goose and swans on their tables” Loki said. “Give these pompous Lordlings a week on the floor and a few lashes at their backs I say to you, and they will be scurrying back to their Lord fathers with their tails between their legs”

The Ladies, Loki could excuse perhaps. But he had little patience for Lordlings that romanticize the life of an enslaved gladiator. Though perhaps this once he should be grateful for the youngest Odinson’s obsession. It was his fancy for gladiator fights that compelled the King to hold this grand tournament as part of the luxurious gala in celebration of the youngest Odinson’s coming of age in a week’s time - a tournament that the King should be attending.

The few times Loki had fought in the capital, it was never before the King. Perhaps once before the youngest Odinson, but mostly, just the general crowd.

It wasn’t unexpected.

Tournaments were so frequent in the capital unlike out in the suburbs here (which meant they do much traveling to places holding small or medium tournaments), it would have bore even the youngest Odinson to watch every one of them. And no doubt would have made the enthusiastic Prince detest it quickly.

Some battles were simply a blood feast with no finest; spilling entrails and decapitated limbs - a simple show of barbarity and gore that attract certain crowds. Some yet were designed as a manner of executing criminals - have a beast tear them to pieces or to have well trained gladiator battle convicts who barely knew which end of the sword to hold. 

Those, the Odinson wasn’t into; which was why he was personally inviting reputable masters that he felt or heard possess well trained gladiators; gladiators that would do glorious battles for him.

With such a handpicked crowd, surely the King would show up. If not for his love of Thor or for Thor’s effort, then for the well orchestrated show of skilled fighters slaughtering each other.

Surely he will be there. _Surely_.

Loki will finally battle before the King. He had waited for this. Any gladiator, paid or enslaved, had waited for this; for the chance to impress and potentially be granted a King’s favor.

“Liesmith” Tyr stopped him suddenly when they were almost at their stone quarters. 

“What is it?”

“Up there” Tyr nodded towards the side of the snowy yard.

Loki turned to see Thor Odinson, the youngest of the Aesir princes looking at them from the covered parapet walk that oversees the bailey. For a moment Loki’s guts twisted and he felt the air squeezed out of his lungs.

How long had the Odinson been standing there? The notion that the proud Odinson might have heard them… No… They weren’t that loud. But the bailey weren’t that large either. In the silence of the morning, if one strained their ears, one could make out the words spoken in the yard from above.

But surely… surely the wind was louder. And if not, then the shout and roars of the other gladiators and the clashes of their training swords would have drowned out their voices… but the training had only just begun.

Damn Tyr.  

Loki shot Tyr a withering glare.

The damn chatterbox!  If indeed the prince heard him and took offence, it would be Tyr’s fault. All of it!

“I’m sure he just arrived or I would have noticed” Tyr murmured uncertainly.

Loki pressed his lips together, saying nothing. He puts a hand to his chest and bowed to the Odinson. Tyr did the same.

The Aesir gave a nod of acknowledgement and left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Why the Jotun runt?” Baldur’s question nearly made Thor chock on his wine. His heart thumped.

Why the Jotun runt what? Why does the runt intrigue him? Why does the runt linger in his mind? Why does the thought of the little thing make his flesh throbbed? Why what?

Thor cleared his throat, as he calmly placed his goblet down on the table.

Manning, the master of the house who had been regaling tales of his glory days as a gladiator over dinner blinked at Baldur uncomprehending.

“What of the runt, your Grace?” The old man asked.

Baldur looked up from the notebook he was writing in.

“It merely seems uneconomical to throw a Jotun runt into the fighting pit” Baldur said. “Jotun slaves do not come cheap. Surely it is a safer investment to have a twelve feet Jotun fighting than a stunted one. Though of course the runt has now proven itself and gained you your popularity. After all it isn’t everyday you see a Jotun runt in the pit. But you wouldn’t know this when you bought it. So why the gamble? You don’t seem to be the gambling type, if you don’t mind me saying”

Thor relaxed. But he could feel the coming of a barrage of questions from Baldur all leading to something Jotun.

Why do you suppose Jotun this? Why do you suppose Jotun that?

It was such a common occurrence that Vali had to make a rule that Baldur was not allowed to speak of any Jotun related matter when they were having their meal, least that was all Baldur spoke about.

His brother is obsess with the documentation of the Jotun’s ‘dying culture’ - seeming to think there is urgency to it before it died out completely with Jotunheim under Asgard’s current iron rule.

Truth, Thor has no love for the perverse culture of those savages that practices infanticide, regicide, incest, and body scarring among other things.

As far as he is concern, Vali ended the reign of a greedy tyrannical King and corrupted aristocrat. He ended their perverse tradition. Vali made them better. Save them. Now if only those rebels would stop sprouting, then Vali would be able to rebuild their shattered realm into the visage of the realm eternal. Vali would be able to bring peace onto a broken species.

As far as Thor could see, those Jotun rebels, Laufey’s royalist, would rather have the realm wither than accept change that would bring them into a new era of glory and majesty. Thor couldn’t care less that their culture would be dead in the process of change. It was for the betterment of their race.

But Baldur is a scholar. Thor supposed Baldur viewed it in a different light.

He scooped for himself another helping of that piping lamb stew.

“Brother, surely such matter could wait. You’ve been writing all night and barely touch the food” Thor tried.

“I’m well” Baldur said.

His steel blue eyes upon Manning, waiting for his answer. Manning was a shrewd trader that counted every penny. So what was so special about this runt that would have the old man make such a risky gamble?

Manning shrugged.

“It wasn’t supposed to be in the pit” He admitted. “Matter of fact, didn’t think the wee thing would live very long. It was barely grown when I got it. Quite cheaply I might add. The little thing was a runner. No one likes a runner”

“But you do not mind?” Baldur inquired. “Does its apparent defiance interests you?”

“Nothing of that sort your Grace. I was down to just one Jotun that summer see. And the ice creature needed company. The runt was a cheap stand in until I’d find more suitable ones”

“What of the others? Are their company inadequate?” Baldur asked.

He knew that Jotuns craved the company of others. It makes a lot of sense when one think of Jotunheim. A realm so cold, so harsh - one would have a higher chance of surviving when clustered in large groups. Seeking company is a survival instinct hardwired into their biology.

There is a saying from long ago; a lone Jotun is a dead Jotun.

But was it really necessary that the company in question to be Jotun?

“You would think so eh?” Manning shook his head. “Tried it once and it was a mess” He did not elaborate on it.

Baldur looked back down to his book and wrote that little detail down.

Manning cuts himself a thick slice of cheese, some raw salmon and a spoon of caviar.

“And you decided to put the runt in the pit when you found more suitable company for your other Jotun?” Baldur looked up, continuing where they left off.

“It decided that for me” Manning squeezed the lemon over his salmon. “After three nights here, the little thing killed two gladiators who got a little too cozy with it if you get my meaning. Seasoned gladiators mind you. That is some feat even if the runt was running on adrenaline to do it. An ice blade dead through the heart of one and it’d opened the throat of another”

Baldur raised his brows with interest. “An ice blade? You are sure?”

“Aye. Now you see what impressed me to put the creature in the pit?”

Baldur leaned forth. His eyes were bright. The gears in his head turning. “By its handy work then, do you think it sheer luck that it survived, or do you think it knew exactly what it was doing when it lashed out? I mean do you suppose young as it is, it had received some lessons in the ways of Jotun warriors?”

Thor turned to Manning, his food lay forgotten. Most times Thor would frown at his brother's inability to stop his questions, but this time, Thor wanted to know the answer too.

Manning wiped his fingers on the pastel cloth. Then he picked up his goblet and made to seem as if he was thinking about it.

 _"They think the runt might be of aristocratic blood...a runner that King Vali might have missed when he executed them at the end of the war"_ He reminded himself to be careful with his answer.

When it comes to the matters of Jotun aristocracy, it seems that all senses would leave King Vali. It is hard to gouge the King’s reaction if his brothers reported of a possible surviving aristocrat to him. His head on the chopping block beside the runt seem a possibility.

“Can’t say for sure” Manning replied, taking a sip of his cup. “You will have to forgive me. But I am not well verse with their ways. I just thought the killing of two experience gladiators by a runt barely grown impressive”

“It is” Thor said.

Baldur thought so too.

“Send the runt to me tonight” Baldur said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _There once were two Kings that ruled over the realm of ice. Their Kingdoms, as different as the elements they commanded within the palms of their hands. One is Fire and the other Ice…_ It was a tale his older sibling used to tell him. Loki had been in dream when he was jolted awake and roughly taken into a different chamber than the one he had serviced Thor in. For one, it did not have a bed.

It was the master’s study. He had been in here only once.

“Sit!” His handler grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him down on the wooden chair in front of the sleek black desk. “Now you wait. And don’t you go around saying unnecessary things you hear me” 

Loki ignored him; looking around the warm chamber. It was relatively neat and cozy as far as studies goes. A stone fireplace, a liquor cabinet, thousands of thick leather bound book lined the shelves that were cut into the white stone wall. Most of the furnishing was crafted of hardwood and there was a black leather couch against the other wall.

It wasn’t long when there was a click at the door.

“Your Grace” The handler bowed.

Loki did not turn. He stared straight at the shelves behind the desk.

“You may leave” A voice said.

“Ah yes. Of course” There were more hasty bowings, and the handler was gone.

Loki sat unmoving. Footsteps tapped closer.

There was the pop of a stopper and the trickle of liquid. Loki could smell the earthy scent of brandy.

Thor came to sit on a chair leaning against the wall; while another Aesir placed a half filled glass of liquor in front of him.

“Have a drink, Jotun” The new Aesir went to sit behind the desk.

He was lean where Thor was bulky. He had steel blue eyes, narrow nose and wavy golden hair that falls gently just over his shoulders.

“I am Baldur Odinson” The prince introduced.

Loki’s gaze flicked quickly to Thor and back, his lips tightened.

“You don’t drink?” Steel blue eyes bore into his.

When Loki remained silent, Baldur shrugged and picked up the glass, downing it. The prince placed the empty glass down and flips his thick notebook. The momentary silence was cut with the clicks of turning pages.

From where Loki sat, he could see that the pages were cramped with writings, notations, diagrams and lose leaflet of paper and notes. He even saw a rough sketch of a Jotun and a few annotations pointing to the lines on its skin. His fingers curled.

“Your companions call you liesmith” Baldur opens to a blank page. “Do you lie a lot?”

“No more than I need to” Loki said.

“You would not need to with me. I will do you no harm” Baldur assured him.

Loki said nothing.

Baldur took the quill from the ink bottle. “Name?”

“Loki”

Baldur looked up from his book. “Loki what?”

“Just Loki your Grace”

“As you wish” Baldur wrote it down.

Thor shifted in his seat.

Loki could feel those sapphire eyes looking upon him intently. He resisted the urge to look over.

“So Loki” Baldur started. “I am trying to understand Jotunheim. I want to understand her people. Their lives… _Your_ life before the war. It is unfortunate that Jotunheim had always been so hidden from the other realms. Books speak little of her and with current events, I fear with time the secrets of Jotunheim would be lost forever. Surely -”

“You wish for me to speak of a Jotunheim that is no more?” Loki cuts softly.

“Aye. Will you tell me?”

Will Loki tell him? Loki would rather spit at his face than tell him a thing. But he had grown smarter in recent years to know that whatever satisfaction he would gain from the look of outrage on any Aesir’s face for his defiance was not worth the pain later.

“Of course your Grace. Your servant is here to serve you” Loki leaned back. “But forgive me if my tale is not to your taste. For you see, I was not born to luxury and cannot tell you of it. Your servant here was an abandoned child before the time of war. I could tell you of the tales on the streets and back alleys of Jotunheim if you would like”

“Ah...a different tale at last...” Baldur said. “I tire of countless tales of Jotunheim's splendour you see”

“There is nothing splendid if you are born a runt your Grace” Loki smiles bitterly. “So aye…You will hear a different tale tonight”

"Excellent"

Loki told a tale of starvation first - how the mice he caught in the drain would squeal just before he bit through its fury little belly. The salty taste of warm blood, the slippery texture of its entrails and chewy flesh. The satisfaction of feeling those brittle bones snap beneath his teeth. The ecstasy of a meal at long last, filling his aching belly.

Then next was the tale of a plague that spread through the back alley - how the dying would stink. Too weak to move, they would lay in their bloody urine and brow water shit. They would heave, and cough, their lungs hurt, and their guts lurched as their dark fingers kneading over their sores covered bulbous body seeking comfort.

“Should I go on?” Loki looked over at Thor who was staring at the floor; arms cross and jaws tight.

The youngest Odinson did not respond.

“I can tell you a thousand tales more if it would make you understand me” Loki looked at Baldur with detachment. “But how can you? When you had never lived a fraction of what I had?”

When Baldur looked up from his writing, Loki’s lips were curled into a nasty sneer. Those scarlet eyes were the cold of ice.

“It is my understanding that you can form blades of ice. How did you come to possess that knowledge?” The prince asked calmly.

“Street squabble your Grace” Loki said. “Did you think I survive on the streets by batting my lashes?”

For a moment Baldur’s anger flared at the mockery in the Jotun’s voice and that he was sure the Jotun was playing him for a fool. To form decent ice blades that do not crack when wielded was to his understanding a very specific skill set of Jotun warriors and their nobles. Not something one pick up from the back alley. 

The runt is lying about it.

He debated for a moment if he should call the ice creature out, but decided not to. The runt’s tale of survival and continual rejection for his size have by far been the most intriguing to hear, rather than the usual rant about the majesty of Jotunheim and how the Aesirs were the true monsters.

 _"_ _The tales should not be lies…"_   Baldur thought. 

The events told were too specific for it.

“Tell me” Baldur said. “How is it that you were not slaughtered at birth? It is my understanding the Jotuns sacrifice malformed babe”

To this Loki gave a humorless laugh.

Malformed? He had never been bunched with that lot before. And he didn’t think he like the word very much. It doesn’t have quite the same ring as ‘runt’ he must say.

“I was not considered malformed, just very small” Loki told the prince. “And small newborns are left unattended in the temple for three days. We have the Gods decide their fate. _Runts_ do not usually survive it your Grace” Loki’s smile was savage at this point. “But the Gods decided to have the last laugh with this one before you it seems. What a joke they played on my sire and dam. What a laugh they must have”

“I appreciate your honesty” Baldur said without the slightest hint of empathy.

“Are we finished?” Loki clipped.

“Aye” Baldur stuck the quill back into its bottle when he finished the last sentence.

When Loki stood up, so did Thor. Loki turned to the youngest Odinson.

“I’ll walk you” Thor went to the door.

Loki followed, not looking back.

The wind was picking up, shrieking and booming beyond the stone towers.

They walked in silence. The burning torch in Thor’s hand crackled and fluttered as they move down the corridor. Then suddenly, fingers reached out to curl over Loki’s right wrist, halting him.

Loki looked at Thor with the same cold detachment he’d looked at Baldur when he finished recounting his tale of the plague.

The words struggle to leave Thor’s lips.


	2. For Glory For Honor

Their nights were lit by distant stars and the shimmer of moonlight on snow, but the sky was grey now, a hint of gold along the silver clouds. It wouldn’t be long now before their handlers shouted at them to get up. It would be another seven hours walk to the city. They would be there by noon and by next light, they would be fighting for their lives in the pit. But for now, there is still some time…

Tyr traced his fingers over the raised lines of Loki’s arm. The runt’s skin was smooth and hard beneath his touch, like marble. He loves to feel them beneath his fingers. He loves to comb his fingers through the runt’s hair, to knead over his aching thighs after a hard day of training, to cup the runt's cock and feel them hardened in his palm, or to press his fingers into the warm fold of the runt's cunt and feel them slick for him.

Despite his heritage that condemns him to a lifetime of servitude at the mercy of monsters that sees him as nothing more than livestock at best, he felt lucky. The runt was his, as much as the runt would ever willingly belong to anyone.

The distant temple bell chimed.

Tyr counted five. He wrapped his arms about Loki, and pulls him close, burying his narrow nose in Loki’s hair. He drank in his scent of blood and frost; the feel of his cool marble skin against him.

Loki moaned, opening his eyes lazily. “You want another fuck?”

"It is almost light. Half the camp is awake”

“Are they?” Loki yawned. He loosened Tyr’s heavy arms and sat up. He was exhausted and more than a little sore.

Tyr had been rough with him a few hours ago. He always was when he was nervous and the arena makes him nervous.

“Did you sleep at all?” Loki looked over.

“A little”

“You will make mistakes in the pit that will kill you if you don’t sleep”

“Are you chiding me?” Tyr slid a hand along Loki’s leg.

“Think as you will”

“You _are_ chiding me” Tyr grinned. “I thought you would be glad to be rid of me. You say I am insufferable”

“You are when you woke me the second time, whining to be taken care off. I will cut you if you do it again” Loki said. “Do not bother me just because you cannot sleep”

“I thought you would be interested”

“And why is that? Did I moan your name in my sleep?”

“Perhaps”

“If I did, it must be in a nightmare” Loki stood up and adjusted his leather kilt.

Most of the handlers were awake; some brewing that vile concoction they call breakfast in big iron pots. Some yet were huddled close to the cracking flames, poking miserably at the glowing wood as if it would make the fire burn hotter. The ones that took the night watch though were sleeping in the wagons.

“Where are you going?” Tyr asked when Loki started walking in the wrong direction of breakfast.

"To find a bush”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s getting dark. Mother will be worried about us if we don’t get home in time” the boy urged as the forest began to grow dark around them. “I want to go now father”

“A moment” Teitr growled.

The boy fidgets; his blue eyes wide with fear. His heart hammering so hard, he felt it in his mouth. He shouldn’t have said he saw a large beast coming this way last night. He shouldn’t have said anything. If he hadn’t cried out, alerting his father and brother to those red eyes in the woods, his brother wouldn’t have insisted on hunting it down. And they wouldn’t be here, following broken branches and disturbed ground.

He wanted to go home. He hated the woods with their secrets and mysteries. He hated the woods with their eerie sound and dangerous beasts. He liked to watch his mother in the kitchen. He liked to watch her cook and to figure out which spices was to go with which to create the coalescence of aroma that tingle his senses.

His brother laughed at his womanly interest and his father would beat him again if he ever goes into the kitchen.

 _“I didn’t raise an ergi!”_ His father had spat in rage when he told his father he'd rather stay in the kitchen than go hunting with him; and he had since been forced to follow his father and brother on their hunts. They are hunters by trade and his father is determined that he would be nothing less.

There was a rustled. The boy turned at once, almost tripping on his feet, but there was nothing. He tugged the fur closer to his body. It was so cold now he could see his breath.

“Geir stop” Teitr muttered.

“What now?” His eldest frowned.

“Igor…” Teitr motioned for the youngest boy to come to him, quickly.

The boy didn’t need to be told twice.

“I’m scared. I -”

“Shush!” Teitr clamps a hand over the boy’s mouth. He glanced up to the sky. Night is falling fast and night is not their friend.

There is something wrong with the forest. A creeping shadow…

This breeze that bites their skin was unnatural even in Asgard’s winter, and it was steadily growing colder within the minute. A cold that went to the bones, making them ache. The water that lay naturally within the soil had frozen, crunching beneath their leather boots. Icicles clung to every branch above them, and ice covered rough black trunks.

There was a sudden movement between the trees.

“There. I see it” Geir pointed his spear. His voice echoed. He was too loud in the twilit forest.

“Do you want death boy?” Teitr growled.

“I saw it father. Over there” he insisted. “Those trees. It’s there”

“We don’t know what is there” Teitr growled, tugging his youngest to him.

“Great beast of course” Geir said carelessly. “You scared of some animal? What good is your spear then?”

“Silence” Teitr hissed. “Can’t you feel it? Something is amiss”

Igor could feel it. There is something in the forest that shouldn’t be there. And it was too quiet.

“Your courage is amiss that’s all” Geir said. “This is the big one. Igor said it was huge. Six feet tall at least”

“Ten” Igor corrected.

“See. We wouldn’t need to hunt for a month if we got this one”

 _“You just think it glorious to fight great beast”_ Igor knew.

“We could have a feast too with it”

“ _Where you can boast to your stupid friends and tell stupid stories”_ Igor did not say.

“To a child, a father seemed a giant” Teitr said.

Igor looked up at his father. There was a sort of nervous tension about him; a nervous tension that came perilously close to fear.

“Father…” Igor whispered.

Teitr looked at his youngest boy that stood barely to his chest.

There was another rustle. Teitr flicked his gaze up and quickly back at Igor. He pulled out his dagger. Its handle was bound with thick leather for better grip and its steel was very sharp.

Igor’s eyes widened.

“You take this” Teitr pushed the dagger roughly into Igor’s gloved hand. “You grab onto this tight and stab any damn thing that comes at you aye?”

Teitr never waited for Igor’s reply. He straightened up.

“We are heading back” Teitr tells Geir.

There was a hard glitter in Geir’s silver eyes Igor saw, and for a moment he was afraid that Geir would refuse, would out right disobey his father. Or worse, if their father tried to stop him, Geir might use his spear. He had long been angry at their father for refusing to let him join the Golden army; for holding him back he always claims.

Perhaps a little, Igor must concede.

His brother was a big man, twice their father’s size. Strong as a tree and tall. He has a warrior’s build, not the lean ones of a hunter like their father and him. But their father would not let him go. _Why should I let my son die in wars created by pompous lords?_   His father had grumbled.

Geir could walk out of course, but perhaps fortunately or unfortunately, he did not. If Geir kill their father here, Igor didn’t see why he would meet a different end. Geir would not want a witness. He tightened his grip on the old dagger. Then Geir shrugged. Relented. 

Somewhere in the forest, a wolf pack howled.

“Let’s go then coward” Geir gave Teitr a disdainful smile.

Teitr’s jaw tightened, a barely suppress anger in his blue eyes. For an instant, Igor thought their father was going to give Geir the back of his hand, but he merely followed his son.

They started back silently. A cold wind whispered through the trees. The branches stirred in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers.

Teitr saw movement from the corner of his eyes. Large towering shapes moving swiftly between the trees. He turned his head, glimpsed a hulking shadow in the darkness, and it was gone.

“Does the howl of wind unman you?” Geir mocked.

Teitr felt a prickle on his neck. He turned.

An ice spear whistled through the woods; spearing right through his throat.

Igor screamed.

Teitr fell. He was dead.

Geir ran.

The hulking creature stepped out from the trees and stood in front of Geir.

The creature was tall, but gaunt, and hard like ivory, with flesh that was pale blue like the sky. In its hand was a long ice blade unlike any Igor had ever seen. Not a single ounce of metal had gone into forging the weapon. Then the rest emerged silently from the shadows…three, then four…five…six… Their eyes were the red of blood. Jotuns…

Geir did not even fight. Too paralyze with fear to wield his spear.

Igor heard the breath go out of his brother’s lungs.

When the Jotun pulled his blade free, it was dripping red.

Igor was on his knees. Tears streaked down his face, dagger raised in his shaky hand.

The Jotun with the bloodied blade steps towards him. His hard body was heavily scared, and there was one that cuts nastily across his throat. His face was gaunt and cruel, and his red eyes were savage.

“He will tell if we let him go.” A voice husked.

“Are we slaughtering children now? Are we not better than them?” Said another.

“We are long passed that”

These Jotuns have no fear for Aesirs, Igor realized to his horror. These Jotuns do not bow to Aesirs. Why? This was not how it was supposed to be.

“The King! I will tell the King of this!” Igor cried out, his voice cracked. “The King will punish you!”

“Then I await him eagerly…” The scarred one spoke; his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. The tip of his ice blade touched Igor’s neck.

“Finish it, Lord Thrym” Another said.

“Where is your collar?! Igor cried. “Who is your master, beast?!”

“This beast has no Master…” Lord Thrym rasped; putting his blade through Igor’s throat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_If you should die today, you would have died with honor. If you should die today, you would have died like a God on his appointed day._

The cheers of a hundred thousand, two and three hundred thousand voices ranged at once, drumming Loki’s ear.

“Get it!”

Steel rang against steel. Loki’s arm shook under the weight of the heavy shield as he fended off his opponent’s relentless assault. Sparks flew. The Aesir was huge. Standing at eight feet tall, he towered Loki and was sixty stones of pure muscles. Loki wouldn’t be surprises if the man had some giant’s blood in him.

“Kill! Kill it!” The crowd was on their feet.

When the Aesir brought down his blade again, Loki thrust his shield up as hard as he could, knocking the Aesir’s weapon out of his slippery grip and at once stabbed out with his blade. He missed. The Aesir was fast. The next moment Loki saw only a flash of gold before the Aesir’s shield smashed into his face. White spots danced over his vision as he fell hard on the snow packed ground.

He was stunned for a moment. His ears rang.

The crowd shouted their approval.

Loki spat out blood. He was bleeding from his head, his nose; the bone deep cut on his right arm and the long gash across his left thigh.

“What will you have me do to the Son of Jotunheim!” The gladiator opens his arms to the cheering crowd.

“Maim it!”

“Finish it!”

Loki rolled over, forcing himself to his aching feet. He threw his shield down.

“Kill it!”

“Do you hear that slave?” The man hooted.

Loki hissed, baring his bloody teeth.

“Why do you fight death?” The Aesir picked up his blade from the snow. “If you do not die today, you will die another day. You will never get out of the pit”

“Do not seek to speak my fate Aesir” Loki raised his blade.

The Aesir charged.

Loki snarled, pitting steel against steel. Their weapons clashed with bone jarring force, every blow aiming to kill.

The crowd roared; their fist waving in excitement.

Loki could barely see with the blood from his head flowing to his eyes. He barely managed to dodge when the Aesir slashed for his head, the whistled of steel grazed his ear.

A moan went up from three hundred thousand throats.

The next moment the Aesir swung his shield up, slamming the sharp edge of his shield into Loki’s head, cutting a great gash across the Jotun’s temple. Loki stumbled at the blow.

“Kill it! Kill it now!” The crowd was frenzied.

The Aesir was on him hard and fast. Loki grabbed a lump of snow and mangled flesh and flung it at the Aesir’s face.

The gladiator flinched.

Loki swung his blade only to be met by the flat of golden shield. The Aesir thrust forth his shield, knocking Loki back.

“Now! Get that beast!” The crowd shrieked.

Loki was barely on his feet when the Aesir drove his blade up, puncturing through Loki’s leather mail, piercing through his guts and out the back; impaling him.

The stand exploded.

Loki let out a strangled cry, bringing his own blade down with all his might, he slashed off the Aesir’s arm at the elbow.

The coliseum shook.

Blood spattered. Perhaps in desperation, perhaps in madness, Loki charged forth at the shell shocked gladiator still staring at his decapitated hand. He grabbed the handle of his steel with both his bloody hands and drove it through the Aesir’s throat and out the back.

The coliseum roared in disbelief.

The Aesir stilled, dead on his feet.

 _"Dead… Dead!"_ Loki’s hands trembled; then he let out a cry; a cry that came from the bowel of his being. " _It is finished! It is finished!"_

There was a slick wet noise when he pulled his blade out, followed by a spray of blood. The Aesir fell like an avalanche.

A tumult of noise assaulted Loki from every direction. His blade dropped with a clang. His knees shook at his weight. Pieces of flesh clung to his damp tangled hair.

 _"_ _It is over. It is done…_ _"_  He staggered. His entire world tilted at a horrifying angle. He fell hard to his bleeding knees.

The trumpets were blaring, the crowd cheered, booed and hissed in a coalescence of raucous noise. His head dropped and he saw the bloody blade protruding from his belly.

“Ah…” He let out a sound.

The blood caked around the blade was so thick it was black. But he felt no pain. He felt nothing.

 _“Shit…”_ He clenched his teeth, grabbing the slippery handle with his shaky hand.

He pulled it free and tossed the wretched weapon away from him as the black iron gates creaked open. He pressed hard against the pulsing wound. Thick red blood sipped between his fingers.

He looked at the dead Aesir. The snow drank his blood and the winds his breath. His golden shield carved with the crest of silver Yggdrasil lay useless at his side.

No collar bound his neck.

He was a freeman; a freeman that freely chooses to risk his life for gold and glory. The Aesir was not alone in this. Copper skinned fire demon from Muspelheim, the fair Vanirs of Vanaheim, the white gold haired elves of Alfheim, the axe wielding dwarf of Nidavellir - free man came willingly, eagerly, from every corner of the nine realms to die in Asgard’s pit at the Golden Prince’s beckon. He had seen them.

 _"Gold and glory I do not need"_ He lifted his red gaze to the royal box as men came to remove the corpse.

Thor was on his feet in excitement, but it wasn’t the Golden Prince that Loki’s eyes met. It was the sapphire of the Golden King’s.

Vali Odinson.

The man had the same build as Thor, broad and tall. His golden hair that was the same gold as his brothers were braided with leather threads and his full beard was neatly trimmed close to his jaws. His face was hard and severe, his sapphire eyes seeming to twinkle in the sun.

 _"I remember your face…"_ Not at the turn of the millennium or even two would Loki forget the face of Asgard’s King. The murderer. The monster.

“Off with you or do you want to dance with the bears?!” The pitmaster cracked his barb whip as he move across the arena.

Loki ignored his shouts.

The King was looking at him with growing interest as Baldur whispered to the King’s ear.

“The King will give you favour when he gives you favour” The pitmaster hissed; seizing Loki by his arm.

Loki shook him off. In his battered state he bowed before Asgard’s King, lowering his head till it touched the bloody snow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was fire in the night. Fire that seared the sky and paled the stars. The ground shook with the stomp of warriors rushing at each other. Why do they kill? For glory? For love? For honor? For vengeance? For survival? Or just because? A falcon perched silently upon a black withered branch whilst a thin crescent blood red moon rose over the blackened plains.

The stench of smoke, soil, filth, blood and death were thick in the air as bloated, rotting corpses were littered in piles all around him. The surviving villages shifted the corpses of Jotuns and Aesirs without care; tossing them aside and kicking them over as they rip them of any item of value - the furs of fallen Jotuns, the steel of Aesir armors and the gold of their chains. Dead men needed neither fur nor steel nor gold wherever they went. And the desperate hacked the greenish limbs off stiff corpses and throwing them into the brown sacks that they drag over their shoulders.

Meat is meat.

There was a soft creak beside him and he turned his head. An arrow was pointed at him. He spread his wings as a cold breeze fluttered his feathers.

Loki woke to a chorus of groans and shouts.

“You cheated!” Tyr’s voice thundered.

“You are all sore losers”

“Oh fuck you”

“No. Fuck _you_ Jotun. And if you don’t make it out of this tournament, I’ll be collecting my due from your corpse”

“I’ll freeze your puny prick off if you try”

“What did you say?!”

Loki couldn’t careless how big or tiny anyone’s prick was. His entire body was sore and his swollen jaw was tight. His head felt like it was going to split and the noise was only making it worse.

He snuggled closer against Tyr’s chest, and drank in his scent of pine, smoke and frost. The icy coolness soothed his burning flesh and the hard body gave him a distinct sense of security that puts him at ease.

“Liesmith!” A finger poked his swollen jaw.

Loki groaned; swiping blindly at the offensive digit.

“You need to get up”

“You are going to get your fuck toy to play for you now?” Garth huffed.

“Keep speaking like that. Might be one day someone will cut your tongue out” That was Knud.

“Are we playing or talking?”

“You are going to let this midget get away with cheating?” Someone was saying.

“What exactly is the problem?” Dag asked.“We all cheated didn’t we?”

“I didn’t!” Tyr cried in indignant.

“Then that’s your problem”

“Liesmith!” Tyr shook the runt cradled in his arm.

“Do you remember what I told you about waking me up?” Loki murmured; his eyes still firmly shut.

“This not for sex”

“I told you to stop playing cards didn’t I? You always lose”

“Only because they are cheating”

“Then cheat too, idiot”

“Hear! Hear!” Garth grinned. “No wiser words have ever been spoken”

“Help me here” Tyr whined.

“You are useless” Loki prised his sticky eyes apart.

Truth be told, Loki wasn’t quite sure how much help he would be. Drugged up to his eyes with a pounding head, he could barely count to ten let alone count cards. Tyr’s arm slipped away as Loki adjusted himself to sit as comfortably as he could between Tyr’s crossed legs. It was hard to move, his tightly bandaged abdomen was stiff.

He caught a whiff of that brown paste that had crust under his bandage. It had a bitter scent. He leaned back against Tyr as Garth started shuffling the cards.

There were two elves, six Aesir, three fire demons and one dwarf in the game. The brazier in the corner cracks and pops, the flames casting long shadows across the stone wall.

The scent of sex, blood, death and rot lingers in the air.

The two Aesir lying in the corner had stopped moaning and groaning. They had died sometime between Loki’s slumber. A third was in sleep, his bandaged chest raising and falling shallowly. A pair of elves was fucking behind a makeshift curtain made of ragged cloth, and three dwarves were snoring soundly close by the brazier.

Loki ran a hand gently over his tangled hair, careful not to pull them. He could feel the stitches on his scalped and the hair surrounding it was stiff with dried ointment.

Tyr picked up the cards.

“Who is playing this one?” Garth asked. “You or liesmith?”

“Him” Loki answered as Tyr brought the cards to him.

It wasn’t a particularly good set.

Loki looked up at Tyr. “How many sexual favours did you owe?”

“Ex-cuse me?” Tyr flushed. “I could have wagered my portion of food or to take their chores or-”

“You have a cunt” Loki said. “A nice hole to stick their pricks in is what half this lot wants”

“They won’t be getting it if you play for me”

 _"Too many then"_   Loki sighed, looking down at the cards.

The bandages wrapped about both Tyr’s hands were stained with blood and it smelt of dried herbs. Tyr had grabbed his opponent’s blade with his bare hands when he lost his own and his opponent had come at him. He damn near had his fingers sliced off if the frost had not broken the steel.

It was a stupid move.

It remains to be seen how well Tyr could still hold a blade. If not very well, then Tyr wouldn’t last very long. Loki tried not to think of it as his fingers caresses the rough bandage.

Tyr kisses the top of Loki’s head.

“Um” Loki made a sound. He picked out a card from Tyr’s hand when it was Tyr’s turn and threw it to the top of the pile in the middle.

One round became two and three and four… Loki won more than he lost. Their game was cut short in the seventh round when they heard the sounds of voices outside the steel door of their quarter or rather cell was the more appropriate description.

 _"No…"_ Tyr thought. _"Go away. Go away"_

The only reason why the handlers would be coming down to the gladiator quarters at this time of the night was that someone had paid to be serviced by a gladiator. It would be fine if the request came from a lady. But if it came from some Aesir warrior....

Tyr tightened his jaws. 

The warriors, Aesir or not only ever asked for Jotuns when they were in a particularly savage mood; or so most of his warrior patrons had been.

He held onto Loki tighter. The sound grew louder.

There were other cells of course. Each held gladiators from different masters. Perhaps they weren't even their handlers and they were going for a different cell.

_"Go away. Pass us please. Please"_

The footsteps stopped just when they were the loudest and keys clattered right outside the door.

“Seems like some of us might be having a good night” Dag said.

The sound of the lock turning woke the dwarves with a snort. Tyr’s heart pounded when he saw their torches.

“Ah!” Dag stood to his feet with practice grace. “To what do I o-”

“Not you Aesir” The head handler cut. “The runt”

For an instant Tyr wanted to grabbed Loki and run. " _Not tonight! He is hurt!_  " He wanted to scream.

Loki always got the worst of warriors. The Golden Prince had been nice he remembered. Loki hadn’t return with any bruises nor was he even limping. But that was the exception rather than the norm.

The other two handlers came closer, the straw crunching softly beneath their feet.

“Is it a lady?” Tyr asked hopefully.

“None of your business” The larger of the two growled. He held a torch in his hand.

“Of course it is” Loki smiled. “You should have seen the way the ladies cheer for me in the ring. They love me”

 _"Liar. They were shrieking for your head. You killed a very popular gladiator"_ Tyr thought.

When the smaller handler came to pull Loki to his feet, Loki stubbornly refuses to move and glared at the Aesir’s hand as if it was spiting insult at his face. Loki had always been proud that way. There was arrogance in him, a sense of pride that could not be beat out no matter how many lashes fell on his back.

“I can stand on my own Aesir” Loki wrenched his arm from the handler’s grip.

The handler bristled. If he had a whip he would have cracked it. Before the Aesir could utter a threat, Loki lid a hand over Tyr’s shoulder and pulled himself to his aching feet.

“Now, don’t get jealous boys” Loki smirked.

The gladiators booed.

Loki followed the handlers into the narrow hallway as they lock the steel door behind him.

“Wash it quick” The head handler said. “It stinks. The Prince will have our heads if we present this walking corpse”

“Have you seen it?” The larger handler asked in disbelief. “No amount of washing will make this one look any less a corpse. Might make it smell better is all”

“This one does illusions. Have it cover the bruises and cuts up when it goes. It does that often enough anyway, this vain little thing” The head handler waved his torch to herd them hurriedly down the shadowy corridor, grumbling about privileged cunts, ridiculous demands and no sense of the hour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The great hall rang with the laughter of warriors and gladiators and rang with their drunken songs. The dancers danced and the musicians played their bodhran, bagpipes and harps in the backdrop with gusto. Wine and mead flowed, wenches laughed as they draped over the laps of Lords and warriors.

Thor looked longingly from the high tables at his fellow warriors. He wished he could join them. His brothers would not mind, but he did not want the High Elves to report to their King that the Golden Prince is a drunken brute. And so he sat with his brothers and Generals on the high table, listening, smiling and speaking when expected to.

“And what do you think?” The elf asked him.

“Oh, I agree with my brothers” Thor said. He hadn’t been listening.

The elf nodded and went back to speaking with Baldur and Vali.

Thor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It wasn’t like his opinion mattered anyway. The elf was only asking him out of courtesy after having heard from Vali and Baldur. He was always an afterthought. His opinion never mattered to anyone aside from his brothers. His achievements were never important enough to warrant any attention or awe. If he had been valiant in battle or if he had made a breakthrough in one research or another, it was only expected of him. He is the brother of Vali and Baldur after all, they would say.

He was known for nothing but his love for gladiator fights and his queer interest in Jotuns. It was only because he was the Son of Odin and the brother of Vali and Baldur that none had yet dare label him a Jotun-sympathizer. Or perhaps they do behind his back or on the street or in the back alleys, he wouldn’t know.

He took a swallow of his mead. The sky rumbled lightly. The God of empty noises is what he is.

He saw Fandral from the crowd who gave him a look of pity. Thor looked away, ashamed that he was ignored at his own celebration that he had been so excited about.

As the night dwindled, the Generals spoke among themselves and the foreign dignitaries only truly wanted to speak to the King and his advisor. He was for the most part left to sit silently like a fool. His fingers curled; his jaws tight. He could feel anger mounting in him.

The servants refilled his cup as fast as he was drinking it.

When Thor saw his servant Asta poked her golden head through the ornate door at the other side of the chamber, he puts his goblet down. He stood up and it was a wonder that anyone even noticed him getting up at all.

“Thor?” Vali noticed of course.

Only Vali.

Baldur was still talking to the elf and none of the Generals or other occupants of the hall even turn their heads.

 _"I could disappear and only Vali would notice"_ He thought. He felt tears prickled at the back of his eyes, his ears ringing.

Vali’s mouth was moving, perhaps he was apologizing even but Thor did not hear it.

“I must retire now” Thor said. He whirled at once and walked as fast as he could across the chamber, before anyone could see him cry. He must have drunk more mead than he realized.

“Your Grace” Asta squeaked when Thor barged through the door. “Your gladia-”

“I know” Thor shoved pass her and down the corridor. He swiped at the tears, furious that he had let them fall.

He avoided the patrolling guards in the corridors as he made his way down to the yard.

The night was cold and brutal. Winter winds were screaming through the night as he crosses the castle’s main bailey towards the southern wall to the gated compound that Vali had made for him. The sentries watched him from the battlement of the inner wall, their golden cloaks fluttering wildly in the wind.

The guard fumble for his keys when Thor came to the Iron Gate. He apologized profusely when he dropped it in his haste and when he couldn’t quite find the right one for the iron lock. When the gate was finally opened, Thor walked pass it without a word.

“Beg your forgiveness your Grace” The guard apologized.

With a gesture Thor dismissed him. The Iron Gate was locked again.

No one greeted him in the small snowy yard. It was to be expected. It had been awhile since he visited his Jotun _pets_ as Vali calls them and his coming had been sudden.

There was light coming from the common area and as he pass, the sound of music and songs spilled through the wooden windows. There were laughter and loud chatters too. Thor did not bother them. He went to the main house.

It was cold and dark and everything was covered in dusty sheets of cloth. He went up the marble stairs. There was light from the gap beneath the door of the master bedroom. A welcoming heat greeted him when he opened the mahogany door. The fireplace was crackling and the Jotun gladiator was sitting patiently along the newly made four poster bed.

“Good evening your Grace” Loki’s voice was dark velvet as he stood to his feet with liquid grace and move towards his patron.

“Will you have a drink?” Thor asked.

“I will have whatever pleases your Grace” The Jotun said.

Rough finger slid up Thor’s arm, a smile on the gladiator’s face. A smile that was at once wicked, insolent and coy.

Thor found himself smiling too, his chest tightened. _"I am a stupid fool"_  

Loki’s slightly gaunt face was unblemished. Except for the bandage wrapped tightly about the runt’s abdomen and left thigh, the Jotun was without a single cut or bruise. False perfection. Thor didn’t like that.

But why should he not like it? Why should he take issue with it when he took no issue with the Jotun’s words of affection or his undivided attention? None of it is real. This is what he has bought with his gold. Fantasies. False admiration. False affection. False devotion. False _everything..._

Loki took a step closer and leans up, kissing Thor on the lips.

The Jotun’s mouth tasted of frost and clove, and his icy fingers were practiced as they slipped under Thor’s clothes. Thor gasped at the sudden cold; gooseflesh pimpled his arms.

Loki let out a soft laugh. “Oh you like the cold don’t you your Grace? I remember…”

“I am sure you remember a lot of things” Thor slid his warm hands Loki’s bandage.

The Jotun tensed for a fraction of a second. And though his features remained unchanged, unconcern and unafraid, Thor had noticed it.

 _"He is hurt you fool or were you blind this morning?"_ The prince chastised himself, embarrassed.

Even in his anger and frustration, he should have known better than to summon the Jotun. Is he so careless a partner?

When Loki slid his fingers higher, Thor took a step back. “No…”

Loki removed his hands from under Thor’s tunic. Red eyes looked upon him questioningly.

“I should not have asked for you” Thor said. “You are hurt”

“I am well enough”

“Are all your words scripted? If I ask do you want me, will you say you have missed me too and you could not take the memory of me out of your mind?”

“If that is what your Grace wants to hear I will convince your Grace of it"

"I know you will" Thor touched Loki’s face, almost with affection. Caressing his fingers gently over the flawless cheek, un-cracked lips, his unblemished temple where he had saw the Jotun’s opponent smashed his shield into.

He could not even feel the cuts or swells that the Jotun’s illusion was masking. And the Jotun did not even flinch, or hinted of pain or discomfort.

“Impressive illusion” Thor said.

“Does it displease your Grace?” Loki asked. “Do you want me bruised? Is that what you like?”

 


	3. Gods and Kings

_Show me..._ The Golden Prince had whispered, and the illusion that mask his wounds dissolved.

Warm fingers caress his bruised and battered form, tracing over the hardened scabs with feather like touch. Split lips and darkening bruise. He did not flinch from those warm fingers. He had smile, not letting even a shadow of apprehension grace his expression as he stilled himself for pain. Prepared for cruel fingers to dig into his healing wounds and tear at his flesh, prepare for a slap…that never came.  

 _Tell me what do men do when they find you so injured…_ The Aesir Prince had said.

 _That depends on the man. And his appetite for the evening. Would you like to try?_  He had asked.

The Aesir did not. And here they are…the Golden Prince dabbing more herbs on his wounds, changing his recycled bandages for fresh ones and redoing his crooked stitches. He could almost laugh at the unreality of it all.

There are half a dozen Jotuns looking at him curiously from the snowy yard beneath.

Loki gasped when a sudden shot of pain tore up his right arm.

“Damn” Thor hissed; pressing a clean cloth over Loki’s bleeding arm. He had torn the stitches by accident when he was cleaning the wound.

Loki turn towards the Prince, unconcern.

“Hold it for a moment” Thor instructed.

Loki did as he was told, pressing the cloth hard against his stinging arm.

“What is this place?” Loki asked.

“A place my brother gifted me” Thor waved back at the Jotuns that were waving at him. A gentle smile on his lips. “They are mine” Thor tells him.

Loki looked at him curiously.

Thor got up and move to his bedside. He picked up the silver ewer filled with cool water and poured a measure into two olivewood cups. The bottle of wine was left forgotten. He had drunk more than enough at the feast.

“Here” Thor handed a cup to Loki and sat back down on the ottoman against the window.

The snow fell heavily outside; the wind rattles the lattice window with mounting fury.

“The King do not mind that you keep Jotuns?” Loki asked after a moment.

“Why should he? He is wary of Jotuns yes, but he does not hate them” Thor looked at Loki. “Whatever you might have heard”

“I have heard nothing” Loki lied. The Jotuns says a lot of things about Vali and they gave him many names.

Loki sipped at his cup; looking over the rim at the Prince like the most skilled courtesan. Not for the first time Thor wondered why Loki knew these… _arts._ Why would a gladiator know the secrets between the sheets when their craft is death?

“You do not believe me nonetheless” Thor muttered.

“I do” Loki said. “His Majesty freed Jotunheim from the clutches of the half mad king. A tyrant. I will not forget. King Laufey got what he deserved and I weep not a single tear for what was done to him or his family or any of the nobles of Jotunheim”

“What he deserved you say. Many of your kin do not share your view on the matter”

“I am not the many”

“Oh?”

“Aye. The heritage of the wicked seldom differ. When the time comes, and it will surely come, the wicked will be torn down from every side. Their prosperity will not endure. When they cry for help, none will come. When they cry that they have been wronged, they will receive no justice. Their closest friends will desert them. Their kin will despise them. Their siblings will loath them. Those that they have loved will turn against them. And however many children they may have, their fate is the sword. Truly I tell you Prince of Asgard, the wicked will surely live to see all of this come to pass before the end of their days”

“Just as Laufey did?” Thor drank slowly. His eyes upon Loki intently – trying to decipher falsehood in his expression. But he could not. Loki’s expression never once falters.

Instead, Loki smiled; and there was something cutting in his smile that uneased Thor.

“He lived to see his precious realm conquered, his proud army decimated; his Generals, his nobles, his friends, his beloved mate, his valiant first born, executed before his eyes. And his youngest, the treasure of Jotunheim, bound into a lifetime of slavery. Oh the horrors that must await that little prince” Loki said without sympathy. “I was there in that square when they were publicly executed and that child prince taken away. It was quite a spectacle I must say. Laufey, a creature of pride till the very end, in his last moments on that platform, rather than plead for mercy for his youngest that was weeping in fear, he curses the Aesirs to Hel. I think that speaks volume of the creature that he is. Makes you wonder if he had ever loved anything more than his pride. He got what he deserved”

Thor said nothing. He placed his cup on the floor, scooted closer and gently take Loki’s arm.

“Let me see” Thor said.

 Loki removed the bloody cloth. The bleeding had stopped. Thor reached for a fresh roll of bandage by the window.

“Tell me…” Thor wound the bandage over Loki’s wounds. “If you were to receive the King’s favour in your final match, what would you ask for?”

“To serve in his house your Grace”

Thor sighed. He wanted to say, _enough with your honeyed words_ , but the words never left his tongue. Because he knows that if they did, Loki would simply change his answer to what he thinks Thor wishes to hear or insist that he speaks true. There is no truth with this one Thor knows.

But can Thor blame him for his honeyed lies? Why would Loki not fill his ears with honeyed words of devotion, loyalty and adulation? Why would Loki not fill his ears with declaration of Asgard’s might, splendor and glory?

It was hardly surprising. Loki would not have survived so long at the mercy of slave masters if he had not learnt to convincingly praise the majesty of Asgard while cursing his own kin to Hel and back when asked _._

 _"He will convince me of anything I ask or perceive to ask for"_ Thor thought; and that thought sat sourly with him, even though he knew it was foolish.

Why he desired a silver of truth from this paid bed-warmer was beyond him. It was stupidity. Perhaps it was the mead in his system still, making him sentimental.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She had woken with a shout when her hand-maiden, touched her shoulder. The servant had apologized profusely for startling her, but informed her that the King is here.

 _“Let him in then”_ She had said. For who was she to deny the King. She splashed some water on her face and went to stand before the burning hearth.

It was never truly dark in the Frigga’s chamber. Three hollow candles burned upon her windowsills, four more flickered on either side of her bed and the fire in her hearth would burn all night long.

She stared at the flames, her flowing nightdress shimmered in the golden light of the fire. Her golden locks let loose, lay gently on either side of her shoulders. She clasped her ice cold fingers together to keep them from shaking and she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her hammering heart. She did not want Vali to see her in such a state of fear. She does not want Vali to question what she had seen.

She did not want Vali to know that tonight she sees that dream again…that hall of bones, a blood stained throne, a shifting figure in the shadow. An ossuary lined with thousands upon thousands of blood stained skulls. Blood had pooled at her feet, and clung to her nightdress. And when she run down the hall of bones, it kept going without end. The stench of rot becomes stronger and stronger as the hall became darker until all she could see were the glowing white skulls staring back at her and a cold presence reaching for her.

 _“The skulls are deaths”_ She thought. Deaths that are to come. Deaths, and in the numbers as fate had intended.

Her dreams are never just dreams; they are of things that is to come.

She turned back to her bed where her grandson Narfi was sleeping peacefully without a care in the world.

Frigga move towards him and stood at his side, looking down at the little cherub. Fair and beautiful is his face, his little fingers slightly curled as he slept, his golden ringlets sprawled messily over his pillow. His chest raising and falling gently, his lips half parted in a sigh.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

And she thanked the Norns for each day that she had with him, and at once curses them to Hel for the fate they would deal him. A fate that for all her powers, she could not change, whatever Vali might believe of her.

The moment Vali entered her chamber, she could smell the scent of smoke and mead on him.

Frigga turned to her King and son.

“Good evening mother” Vali greeted quietly. There was a cold edge to his voice that Frigga was used to.

“Good evening” She responded.

The King gave her a curt smile, then he took her right hand and brought it to his lips, giving a light peck.

“You are cold as ice” Vali commented.

“I am well” Frigga pulls her fingers away.

“You are trembling”

“I am a little cold, that’s all” Frigga said. “If you have cared to visit your mother a little more you would know that your mother's chamber is the coldest in the palace” That wasn’t true. Her chambers are warm enough. But she would rather Vali thinks she is cold than have him know that she has seen that _vision_ again. “Whatever would your father say if he was still here” She added.

Vali’s jaws tightened at the mention of Odin.

“If he is still here” He said slowly, coldly. “He would not stand idly and watch the realm burn and his sons die. He would not keep his mouth shut if there be a threat he sees”

A cold smile grazed her lips and she lets out a little laugh.

“Sometimes I wonder what happened to the boy that I raised” She said. “I wonder, how he could think his mother so heartless as to wish him dead”

“I wonder too” Vali darkened. “Goodnight mother”

He picked Narfi up.

Narfi groaned, his tired arms about his father’s neck as he continued sleeping.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fire spits and crackled in the hearth as the wind continue picking up in the night. Loki doesn’t sleep though he is exhausted to his bones, and his head was pounding softly. He never sleeps when he is with his patrons. He must always be ready to serve them if they happen to wake in the hours before dawn. And he must make certain that the fire does not go out in the night, especially in the dead of winter. He had not met a single patron that appreciated the cold.

He sat on the ottoman, looking at the Golden Prince in his peaceful slumber. Thor was mostly quiet, he moaned from time to time, his golden brows would furrow, he would shift and turn and then fall silent again. Strands of golden hair with a kiss of the sun lay gently on his tanned face.

Loki thought Thor look near enough in appearance to Vali. _“But you are not him”_

He lifted the olive wood cup to his lips and took a gulp of cold water.

It was the King’s favour he sought, not the Prince.

 _“But perhaps if I have the Prince, I will have the King”_   He thinks.

It is well-known even among Jotuns that Vali loves his family. It is his only redeeming quality some might say. Perhaps if that whom the King loved were to warm up to him, so will the King?

 _“_ _Perhaps if I have the Prince’s ear, I will have the King’s too”_ He almost laughed at the foolishness of his train of thought. It was only wistful thinking he knew, but still it was a nice thought. And besides, even if he were to have the Prince and not the King, it could only improve his state. Though of course, some would disagree.

In the highest court of the land, in the royal court, often when one has the favour of those in charge, things can turn fatal. A game of power is a deadly one, where the stakes is one’s life. And it takes only a moment to fall into ruin and death. A game he had played in another lifetime and intents to play again, if that was what it meant to get into the House of Vali. But he would be playing no games and Thor’s favour will do him nothing if he did not get out of the pit.

He was so close now and yet he could feel it fast slipping out of his fingers, and it terrifies him.

He did not know if he had the King’s eyes or not. He suspects not. Perhaps his curiosity, but that is not enough to earn him the King’s favour. He must have the Prince at least in the final match at the end of the week, he knew. He needed a performance the Aesirs have never seen and will never see again.

_A performance worthy of Gods and Kings…_

The fire in the hearth was dying out. Loki placed his cup on the floor and pushes himself to his aching feet. Every part of him ached as he makes his way to the hearth. It hurts to bend down to lift the logs from the basket by the fireplace, but it did not bother him. He had long learnt to ignore the pain of his body.

He stirred the fire place with a poker and raised the logs so that they rest one against another. Slowly, the fire built up again. The dry heat was unpleasant, but it was nothing Loki could not bear. He prodded the fire a little more and stared at the flames.

_A death worthy of Gods and Kings..._

“Loki?” crooked a voice suddenly.

“He is here your Grace” Loki turns towards the Golden Prince, a smile on his face.

“Why are you there? Come back” Thor murmured sleepily.

“Forgive me” Loki shifted towards the bed; and lay down on top of the thick covers by Thor. “I do not wish for your Grace to catch a chill.

“You have my thanks. But I wish you would rest” Thor threw a hand over Loki’s waist, his thumb caresses the herb crusted bandaged.

“I am honoured to serve you” Loki tells him.

“They’ve trained you well”

“Your Grace?”

“Whores sell themselves for coins and jewels. Slaves sell themselves for comfort and a warm meal in their bellies. If I promise you both and vow to praise your service before your master, will you give me truth?”

_Truth?_

Loki considered the Prince’s words for a moment. Truth is a slippery concept. What is true is simply a matter of perception and assumption.

“And what truth is that your Grace?” Loki ventures. “You ask for truth but I think you have already decided what is true for yourself. So tell me your truth your Grace, and you shall have it from me”

“Oh? Are you calling me ignorant and close-minded?”

Despite Thor’s words, his light tone tells Loki that he likes what he hears and was far from angry. So Loki continued. “Nei. But your Grace, longed have you surrounded yourself in court by liars and flatterers seeking your favour, seeking to manipulate you, entice you to their ways. They distort your perception, they distort _truth._ And now when I am true to you, you think me hiding a knife behind by back, ready to lash out at you”

“Is that what you think? That I am easily taken in by flattery? That I know not when I am being lied to?” Thor challenged; though his tone was still light.

“How can you not be taken in? Flattery is sweet poison”

“Poison all the same”

“Aye. But poison so sweet, some would willingly take” Loki says more boldly now.

“Not this Prince” Thor snorted.

“So you say” Loki muttered, feinting doubt.

If Loki was not mistaken, he was starting to see the fairy tale Thor wanted to play in, whether consciously or subconsciously. There are only so many tales in the world after all, this one was to be of a creature that speak poison and lies, a creature that is wild and untamed, dangerous, until it met the unrelenting Prince. A typical tale of a villain, the poisonous seductress which desire is only ambition, abandoning its old ways after meeting ‘the one’ , that despite outsmarting the villain at every turn, will not give up on the villain. Or perhaps the Prince prefers the tale of a dangerous creature that cannot be tamed, cannot be commanded, except by him?

Whichever it is, it is still early in the fantasy and he is still the untamed and poisonous snake that seeks to corrupt the Prince’s mind against his closest confidant for ambition, but is caught at every turn by the ‘brilliant’ Prince.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, there was to be a joust in the garden of a house a little distance from the palace – a little respite between gladiator death matches. It is one of the King’s many private homes; and this one was free of any castle walls or moat. His gardens were laid around the house like a checkerboard of green and white. White stones and paths and borders around low knot gardens of green bay. Beyond them lay the park where the King kept his does and stags; and between the park and the garden was a beautiful lawn kept ready all year round for the King’s use as a jousting green.

The tent for Thor was hung in red and gold and very large.

Loki hurried himself as he strapped his patrons into his black armour trimmed with gold. He had not expected to be invited along for the joust. He had thought he would be sent back in the morning and he would have an entire day of rest before death match tomorrow. But he had no such luck. He would have to get through the entire day as if the invitation was a great privileged. As if he would wish for nothing but to be in the presence of the Prince.

“Oh move over!” Thor snapped at last when Loki pulled the wrong buckle.

Loki bowed in apology.

“Get my drink. You can at least do that” Thor growled; motioned for his usual servant to buckle him in.

Thor in the morning was different from the Thor in the night. The Prince was not one to welcome light challenges, tease or questions at all from those that serve him. Whatever fantasy Thor desired in the confine of his chamber was to be strictly that – in the confine of his chamber. The morning Prince, expects respect and complete obedience from his servants and definitely a Jotun slave.

“Forgive me” Loki said. He went to the table and picked up a cold pitcher of wine, pouring a measure into the Prince’s studded goblet.

It was obvious that the Aesir Prince was nervous about his joust. The Prince had hardly eaten anything all morning, instead gulping down cups after cups of wine in what Loki thinks is an attempt to calm his nerves.

Loki returned with the goblet and Thor snatched it from him, draining it in a swing.

“Another!” He shoved the empty cup back at Loki.

Loki poured him another.

The first five joust were among lower men of Vali’s court, hoping to attract attention by risking their necks. There were a number of exciting passes that made the crowd cheer and groan.

Thor commanded for his servants to go for his horse when they were done with him.

The Aesir Prince steps towards the threshold of his tent just to see a smaller man unhorse his larger rival, smashing his lance in the process, which made the crowd roar.

The snow continued to fall, littering white over a field of green. The air was biting but at least the wind was light.

Thor’s fingers curled.

“Your Grace?” Loki lifted the Prince’s cup.

“I’ve had enough” Thor said.

A servant came to take the cup from Loki and hurried away.

They watch another match.

A rider's leg was caught in his horse’s rein as he went over. Dirt flew. He was dragged through the green and trampled upon. The crowd shouted in shock. Horse masters raced to stopped the stallion, and healers rushed in. The unconscious man was placed onto a stretcher and carried off the green. His wife followed, out of her mind with worry.

The trumpet blast, signalling the next pair before the wounded man even got to the healer’s tent.

“I am sick to my guts” Thor said suddenly.

Loki looked up. “That was an accident. It will not happ-”

“Half these flatterers will let me win because they think it would please my brother and half would concede defeat before we even started in fear of hurting me and risk incurring my brother’s wrath”

“You are too modest your Grace. Surely it is your ski-”

“Well, I won’t have it” Thor cuts, not listening. “Not this time. Not today. I grow sick of it. Sick of their pretentious cheers and praises”

“My praise for you will not be pretentious” Loki tried.

Thor turned to Loki. “You are the worst of all” He said flatly. “But it matters not. That is what I bought with my gold I know”

For a moment Loki could not tell if Thor had slipped back into his fantasy and expect Loki to play along with his tale and give him a reply that is both challenging and teasing or he was simply stating his reality. Loki was safe from the need to decide an appropriate respond least he upsets his patron even more when the King came calling for his brother.

“Thor! How do you fair?” Vali smiled, entering the Prince’s tent.

Loki turned to bow. Vali did not seem surprise to see him at all which was hardly surprising. Loki knew the King had spies. What King did not. Vali probably already knew that they spent the night together before he even had breakfast.

“Brother” Thor beamed; and just like that, his expression changed to one of joy. There was even a twinkle in his sapphire eyes. Raised in the highest and deadliest court of the realm, the Prince is as much an actor as the rest of his court of hungry wolves.

“You look formidable” Vali said.

“So formidable that perhaps half my opponent will back down before we even start?” Thor chuckled, as if it were an inside joke and it did not bother him one bit.

“I’ve made sure that they will not disgrace you” Vali tells him. “They will joust honestly with you”

“I thank you then” He sounded sincere.

“But you will be careful yes?” Vali asked. “I do not want you to overdo it. There is no shame in losing to your opponents that are as fearsome as they come and I do not want you to get hurt”

“You speak as if I would lose”

“I am just saying”

“I need to get ready” Thor said briskly. “And will you take this one with you?” He nodded to Loki.

“If you wish”

“Aye I do. I would have him watch his patron win on the best seat in the house if you would allow it”

“Of course” Vali motioned for Loki to come with him.

“I will cheer for you” Loki bowed to Thor.

“Oh I know” Thor dismissed him with a casual wave of his hand. He was already turned the other way before Loki even left the tent.

Loki followed behind the King, always two steps behind. They do not speak as they walked. The King did not even once look at him; as if Loki did not even exist.

There was a gust of wind and the breeze caught the Kings golden cape, fluttering it. The golden sun shone against his sun kissed locks tied in a fashionable braid.

The King brought him to their box seat.

Baldur was already there, looking bored out of his mind until he saw Loki. Then he smiled.

“Jotun” Baldur called “What would you say is my little brother’s odd in this joust? Between us, what do you bet?”

Loki blinked. It took but a mere split of the second to gather his wits.

“Your Grace" Loki bowed. "Your brother is the finest horsemen the realm had ever seen, it is said. There is no doubt in my mind to the winner. But I dare not wager with you your Grace for I have nothing to give when I lose” 

“Oh?” Baldur raised his brows. “You call my brother the greatest horsemen, and say you are certain of his victory, and yet you speak of lost? You contradict yourself Jotun”

“Nei. If I were to wager with you, I will surely bet against your brother. For I will have your brother carry your blessing instead of mine, and you your Grace can be sure of winning for you are betting on the greatest horsemen of Asgard”

Baldur laughed at that. “Spoken like the most exquisite courtier”

Loki bowed.

Vali said nothing, though his eyes looked upon Loki’s features intently as he took his seat. Loki went to kneel beside the King, his head lowered as was expected.

The trumpet sounded and the two stallions leaped forward as the spurs were driven into their sides. The crowd cheered, shouting for their favoured horsemen.

“Lift your eyes Jotun” Vali said. “The joust is in front of you, not on the floor”

Armoured men thundered at each other, dirt flying from the horses’ hooves. Their lances were like arrows, flying to its target, and then smashing. The shock of the blow either threw one horsemen off his saddles and the weight of his armour did the rest; dragging him over, and he fell with a bone crunching thud.

Vali cheered along with the crowd.

Match after match; men being thrown off their mounts and lances smashing. The spectacle was mind numbing. When it was finally Thor’s turn, the crowd was wild with excitement.

“This is it” Vali said, straightening up in his seat.

As Thor rode pass their seat, he gave his brothers a nod of acknowledgement. Loki, he did not even once glance.

“How about that bet Jotun?” Baldur started.

Loki looked to the second Prince. He could hardly refuse.

“What would you like for me to lose to you?” He asked. He already knew the answer.

Baldur smiled. “How about another _tale_ of Jotunheim? I like your last one. And if you were to on the off-chance win, I will tell you a tale of my own”

“As your Grace commands” Loki said.

Thor won of course. He won the entire competition, for who would dare humiliate him before his entire court? Who would dare sour his mood and incur Vali’s wrath? But at the very least, they put on a good show; and hoped to the Norns that indeed Thor was so arrogant that he thought he had won it fairly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the confines of Baldur’s study, with Vali and Thor bearing witness to his _confession_ , Loki told the tale of the rapist sire that forced him to escape to the streets. He told them that he would rather risk death on the cruel streets of Jotunheim, that he would rather die than have the monster touch him one more time.

“I can still feel his sour breath on me sometimes, smell his sweaty flesh as if I was there again in that damn room. I could still remember the disgusting way he would pant and groan like a beast atop me when he takes me. I can still feel his disgusting worm moving in me, tearing me up. I thought so many times that I would surely die if he touched me again” Loki said. “And even now when I am force of think of it, I tell you truly, I want nothing more than to tear my skin, scrubbed it raw of his filth! And at times when I wake in the night, I would think I was still trapped in that Hel, trapped beneath him and I would be paralysed with fear!”

Baldur was silent as Loki spoke, just as the last time. And again the second Prince took in all his words without showing a shred of sympathy.

Later when Thor returned him to his handler, Thor told him that he would have killed the monster that dared touch him in such a vile manner the first time the beast even tried. He would not have let it happened again. He would not have run. He would have killed.

“We are not all as brave or as strong as you, your Grace” Loki tells him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night in their cell when Tyr woke him, Loki did not protest.

“I’ll be quick” Tyr whispered as he stripped off Loki’s breeches and then his own. His kisses were wet but by no means unwelcoming. He kissed Loki’s lips with urgency, then his neck, his shoulder, his chest in worship of him.

Loki wrapped his arms about Tyr’s neck, as Tyr’s bandaged hands slide up Loki’s thighs.

“I will not be beneath you tonight” Loki tells him.

“A moment” Tyr nipped his neck, sending a shiver of pleasure trickling down his spine.

Loki groaned, when a finger was pressed into the fold of his cunt; kneading, searching for his nub of pleasure. He opened his legs wider and pressed more insistently against the large digit.

Rough as Tyr tends to get, Tyr is attentive.

His breath hitched when Tyr found his clit.

The bastard actually smirked.

Loki wanted to hit him and at once he wanted to laugh. Surely such a mischievous look has no place in what they were doing.

“I am going to make you suffer first. I want to hear you beg and only then will I have you atop me” Tyr said with mock severity.

“You said it would be a quick one” Loki accused. “It is going to take more than a few minutes to make me beg”

“I am very good”

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed”

“You will” Tyr kissed him again on the lips.

Loki smiled into the kiss, his fingers slipped beneath Tyr’s locks.

Oh he is surely going to make sure Tyr is the one begging this night when he gets on Tyr’s cock. From experience, it wouldn’t even take a quarter of an hour. Tyr is impatient, and isn’t one to last long either, though he tries.

Oh yes, he will forbid Tyr to touch him, and go at his sweet little pace, wearing the Jotun’s patience paper thin. He could just imagine it now…Tyr covering his face with his hands as he pleads.

Loki had always found Tyr’s misplaced shyness oddly endearing.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I haven't have a lot of Thor and Loki interaction (and it's already chap 3) - There will be more later... :)


	4. The Arena

The ground rumbled, cracks raced up the arena’s marble wall and shook their seats. Ice spikes shot up in the hundreds.

The stand roared.

Loki leaped to the side, darted and dodged, his shields up as he smashed through them. His thighs burnt. His legs red with blood.

Sludge splashed.

The banners were burning; the arena was burning. The crowd was screaming, pointing, whispering, fingers twisting their clothes in anticipation. The King, the Princes, they were on their feet, fingers clutching the edge of their box. The gladiators watching them from behind the iron gates were cheering loudly, betting ferociously and, clanking on the iron with their blades in mounting excitement.

With a scream, Loki sent a great flaming falcon flying at Tyr.

Tyr hissed, stomping his feet once, a great wall of ice rose with a thunderous groan.

The falcon screeched.

Fire meets ice.

Tyr leaped out of the way.

Steam exploded; blinding them all.

The crowd shouted.

Loki stopped in his step. For a moment he could see nothing but steam and the flickering of green flames that was still burning on the cracked ground. Hear nothing, but the clang of iron, pounding of drums, whispers and the drip of water.

He brought up his heavy shield. His fingers tight over the handle of his blade. His eyes wide, his every senses sharpened.

There was a creak on his left.

Then right.

He turned.

Nothing.

The steam was quickly clearing.

A thud behind him. He saw a flash from the corner of his eyes.

 _“Shit!”_ Loki whirled.

Tyr snarled. Bursting from the steam. His blade was raised, gripped in both his slippery hands. His arms red with blood from fingers to elbow. His bandage in tatters.

Loki had barely raised his scarred shield when the blade came down on the edge of his shield with bone jarring force. The impact brought Loki to his knees. He grunted.

The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding with the roars of the crowd.

 _Kill Kill Kill_ they chanted.

Loki thrusted his shield up and slashed out. Steel rang against merciless steel.

They came at each other hard and fast.

Sparks flew.

Once, twice, thrice Loki blocked Tyr’s blows. There was the loud sound of scraping metal as steel slid off his shield.

Trained and fought together for decades, they knew each other’s move as if the back of their hands.

Loki slammed Tyr’s steel to the side again and again.

On any day, they were evenly match in close combat. But not this day. Tyr struggled to hold his blade, struggled to match Loki in his brutal pace. His hands bled though his wet bandage. His every blow weaker than the one before as Loki only grew stronger.

Tyr was going to lose. A gladiator that cannot hold his blade is a dead gladiator.

Loki knew this.

Tyr knew this.

Loki saw a flash of fear in Tyr’s eyes as the Jotun was forced backward with every hacking blow Loki delivered. Then suddenly Tyr let out a cry and charged.

The sudden bull rush caught Loki unprepared.

Tyr crashed into Loki.

The force sending Loki’s own shield smashing into Loki’s face.

He stumbled.

Hot blood poured from his nose.

Tyr roared. Lunged after him, using both his bloodied hands he raised his blade and brought it down in a savage arc with all his might. His desperate blow would have cleaved Loki’s head open had it hit its mark or broke Loki’s arm had Loki raised his shield to pit it. But Loki jerked to the side.

Steel whistled. The blade went down, hard, chipping the ice floor.

Before Tyr could swing it again, Loki came at him. Thrusted his blade forth, driving it through Tyr’s knee, and with a move twisted the steel out with a crack.

White blinding pain tore through Tyr; a pain so intense it took all of his mind; and that split of the second was all it took. Loki drove his blade through Tyr’s abdomen and tore it out the side.

Blood sprayed.

Tyr doubled over.

Loki snarled, smashing his shield into Tyr’s face.

Tyr fell. His head slammed the ground hard with a sickening crack. His blade flew out of his damaged hand.

The crowd roared, jumping to their feet.

Blood pooled in Tyr’s his mouth, hot blood pouring from his broken nose. He could barely breath. 

 _Finish it!_ The crowd was frenzied.

“Loki please…” Tyr tried to rise.

Loki plunged his blade through Tyr’s shoulder, pinning the Jotun to the ground. Tyr let out a strangled cry, bloodied hand latched onto the blade.

Loki was without mercy.

 _“How many men are you willing to kill for the chance to hold the one you love again?”_ Manning had asked him once. 

 _“I will kill them all. Every last one of them”_ He had replied without hesitation.

In his world of endless lies, that is his only truth. No matter the opponent, no matter his race, his rank, no matter who his opponent had ever been to him, he will kill every last one of them if it meant seeing _him_ again.

Every.

Single.

One.

Loki snarled; gripped his heavy shield with both his hands and brought the edge down on Tyr’s unprotected face, hard. There were sickening crunch of bones and spattered of blood and flesh as he smashed his lover’s eyes.

The crowd bellowed with approval at the gore.

Loki brought the shield down again, making splinters of his teeth. And again, breaking his cheek bones. And again and again, making a bloody pulp of the face Loki had kissed a thousand times; and even when Tyr had stopped moving, Loki did not. He hit him till his arms ached, till his fingers were numb, till he could raise the shield no more, and only then did he throw the damnable metal aside. His chest rising and falling, his breath in pants. His hair wet with blood and sweat stuck messily to his blood smeared face. He wanted to scream but he could not find the voice to leave his parted lips.

The crowd was wild, cheering for him.

Loki staggered away from the bloody corpse, looking up towards the faceless crowd.

The old warriors were clapping each other’s back in roaring laughter and the young were silly on their feet, cheering zealously.

Somehow _somehow_ …he smiled and raised a bloody hand to the roars of the crowd.

Trumpet blasted signalling the end of the match.

He lowered his hand; slippery fingers curled, broken nails digging into his torn palms.

“Loki the Giant Slayer!” Someone roared. And in the next heartbeat a three hundred thousand voices chanted his name.

 _“Loki!” "_ _Loki!”_   They thundered.

Loki turned towards the royal box.

Thor was wild with exhilaration. 

“Fire! Have you ever seen a Jotun that wields fire?!” He boomed, swing a powerful arm over Baldur’s shoulders. “Does your books speak of this? Can they show you such feat?!”

“Indeed they do not” Baldur laughed.

Even the Second Prince was joining the crowd in their exhilaration, but Vali Odinson stood beside his brothers’ infectious excitement as if made of stone.

For a moment the King’s sapphire eyes flicked towards the roaring coliseum, then back at Loki. His face so pale that for half a heartbeat it looked as if he were the one that was killed.

“Get this filth out of my sight” He growled at the pitmaster.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Vali could still see it. The sky that was like soup, boiling and stirring. An ice plain on fire. Warriors shrieking as their bodies go up in flames. Warriors grovelling on the ground with both legs crushed. Warriors lay dead, their eyes wide, their mouth slacked. He could see it still, the plains of solid ice that was with the wave of a hand mounted and piled.

Crumbled!

Turning into ruptured veins beneath their feet.

He could smell death still…but the worst, was the smell of burning flesh.

He remembered that his fingers were bleeding. He remembered…the wet sound of tearing flesh when he rushed to move an ice boulder that had crushed his father’s burning body. He remembered the scent of burnt flesh that rose at once, hitting his nose, making him choke.

He placed both his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers together to keep them from trembling. And even as he does this, he was aware that he was trembling all over.

He hated it.

He hated fire.

He hated this weakness; this fear that when triggered, have the potential to disorient him, paralyse him even sometimes…hurling him back onto that bloody burning field, a slaughter house of warriors.

The Jotuns will never command fire again. That he will make certain.

 _“The runt must die”_ He decided.

He never found that Jotun General that burnt his father and decimated their troops. Even after defeating the Jotuns and torturing every Jotun Generals and nobles he could get his hands on, he never found the monster. A hundred different and contradicting information was all he got. Some say it lived. Some say it had died. Some say its name was this and some say was that.

And Laufey only laughed when questioned. Laughing, goading and taunting until the pain of its torture became unbearable. And then it started reciting the prophecy spoken by the Norns from the beginning of time against the Aesirs; reciting its verses louder and louder till it was screaming them.

_As surely as I have decided it, so it will be. And as I have purposed it, so it will stand. On the days of Ragnarok, I will stir against you a child born from the line of Jotun Kings who cares not for your silver and delights not in your gold. He will amass his scattered people and rain down fire from the heavens. Like hunted gazelles, like sheep without a shepherd, each race will flee to his own native land. All that is caught will fall by the sword; homes looted and burnt, wives ravished. His people will have no mercy on infants nor will they look with compassion on children. On the days of Ragnarok, your great temples will be crushed, your deities slain, and Kings made slaves. On the days of Ragnarok, the sky will bleed the red of blood and the sun will darken; and you will know then that your days have been numbered._

Even to its last breath, it gave nothing away. Even till its last breath, it cursed the Aesirs with those damning words.

 Vali tightened his jaws.

 _“Go ahead. Kill my prophesied child. I know you want to. Isn’t that the true reason for this war? To hold fate in your hands. Oh do go ahead I dare you. And we shall see what happens to Gods who think they can defy fate!”_ The beast King never let him forget his helplessness against the cruel strings of fate.

Sometimes Vali wondered who was really the one being tortured in that cell. Laufey or he...

“I am coming in brother!” Baldur’s voice came suddenly. The pounding on his door had been going for a while.

Vali lifted his head just as Baldur entered his study. He exhaled carefully, eyeing his brother levelly.

“Is it time for the feast already?” Vali asked.

“No. I worry for you. You left so suddenly. And by the Norns you look white as a ghost” Baldur eyed him with a frown. “And shaking! Are you sick?”

“Must be something I ate for lunch” Vali said. “Or perhaps the unnecessary gore”

“The Slayer of Giants sick at the sight of gore?” Baldur gave a laugh.

Vali smiled.

“Must be the lunch. It is far too oily” Baldur declared. “I will talk to the cooks. We cannot have your guests sickened in your hall”

“Aye. You do that. If I go personally, they will think someone had died from their cooking”

Baldur snorted. “By the amount of oil, cream and fat in some of those dishes, and the amount some of us shove down our throats, I would be surprise if none had died from indigestion yet”

“Speak to the cooks, but by the Norns don’t you dare ban meat from my plate. I will have your head!”

“Don’t you trust me brother?” Baldur smirked.

“Of course” Vali said silkily. “But enough of this. I’ve heard an interesting rumour”

“Oh?” Baldur raised a brow. “And what is this _interesting_ rumour?”

“I heard that a rebellious runt, sore from missing out on the King’s favour took its anger out on its patron and was killed as a result” He says this calmly.

“A pity indeed” Baldur replied. “A Jotun with such rare talents too. It is said that all Jotuns with affinity for fire today are the descendants of their Kings of Old that fell to the uprising of the Ice Jotuns. If that be true, then their water down royal blood -”

“You will do as you are told” Vali cuts.

He knows where his brother is going with this speech; and quite frankly, he couldn’t care less how powerful or informative such old blood would be, if he lets Baldur do a few ‘little’ experiment with the thing before killing it.

He will not have Baldur puts his life in danger. If the runt’s tale of ice was to be believe, and its survival in the arena over the decades was anything to go by, the runt has proven itself to be quite the fighter and the killer. He doubts Baldur’s ability to contain such a thing.

Baldur is a man of knowledge that wields information as if a warrior wields a sword. His ability with a sword though…

He will not peel the blackened corpse of his brother from the pavement.

“Our brother will be most upset” Baldur said.

“Then it is good that he did not hear of it” Vali said.

When Baldur left, Vali closed his eyes. Laufey’s words haunted him always.

_“For all your powers, you cannot stop the fall of Asgard without bringing down worse. All you can do is delay it. But as surely as the sun will rise again, the hour will surely come when the walls of Asgard crumble, her proud temples shatter, her Golden throne turn to rust, and her streets be filled with fire and blood. And I pray, you will live to see all that you hold dear strip from you. Then and only then, when your screams have choked you and your tears have drowned you, when you have naught, not even the cloth on your back, shall you know death”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The gladiators in the enclosed courtyard erupted into cheers and shouts of encouragement when the first great plate of leftover boar was brought from the King’s great hall. And they kept coming, one great leftover dish after another. The golden platters were piled with cut-up meat or fish or fowl. Then came the stews and sauces, trays with pastries and massive pies.

For the moment, gladiators from different houses put their differences aside and enjoyed their victory feast. There was much to be celebrated. The tournament was over, they survived and their masters were pleased with them.

Loki laughed and roared with Dag and Knud; joining them in their jokes and friendly banter. If he laughed a little louder than he usually did, they did not mention it. If he seemed a little more enthusiastic and malicious in his sarcasm or if they had seen him tear apart Tyr’s belongings and took Tyr’s favourite set of cards for himself, they don’t mention it either. No one talked about Tyr.

Loki ate and ate – gorging down raw fish and fruit stew mostly.

Dag loved the peacock, goose and swan.

They gambled with dice and cards. Then suddenly a Jotun grabbed another by the arm, shoved his partner down on the ground and mounted him right there as if a wild beast mounts another. With abandon and passion.  

The gladiators in the courtyard cheered at the struggle, egging them on. These seasoned gladiators have fought alongside Jotuns long enough to know a little of Jotun custom and possess enough respect for these fearsome and powerful creatures that they did not taunt or shout at them to take their fucking somewhere else. Unlike those Lords in their velvet seats.

There was shouts, growls and grunts. Shoving, pulling, nails racking down arms and thighs, teeth sinking into flesh as they wrestled on the ground. 

They fuck as they fight.

On Jotunheim, mates or partners would mount each other in the open, beneath the stars and in the sight of their people. Let all bear witness to their bond. Let all bear witness to their love and passion. Things that are important to them should not be hidden. Mates or partners that they love should not be kept as if an embarrassing secret. 

The larger Jotun lets the leaner one dominate him.

The gladiators cheered. Laughed. Shouted obscene suggestions over the raucous cry. 

Loki busied himself with his food and did not look. He had never let Tyr take him or had he ever taken Tyr in public despite everything. 

 _"You never ask. You never complain"_ Loki knew Tyr wanted it. Wanted a public acknowledgement despite all Tyr could act otherwise. But because Tyr knew Loki was not willing to give it, Tyr never once tried it. Never mention it. Never even ask why. Tyr was always so happy with what little he was willing to give. 

His eyes prickled. He ignored it.

"Haven't you had enough swan?!" Loki asked Dag who was piling more of that disgusting fowl onto his greasy plate. "At least try something else once in a while for goodness sake!"

Tankards of mead were brought in when the sweet wine had been exhausted. By midnight, another seven pairs of Jotuns had mounted each other and more than three dozen brawls had started and ended over real or imagined slights or the accusation of cheating in cards or dice. 

The feast went on and on. It was as if they will never stop eating, drinking, gambling and fighting. 

Finally, when the sky was starting to pale, it was time to go back to their cells.

“I am chocked with food” Dag groaned as he walked. His face was flushed and he was sweating.

“You overeat” Loki said simply.

“No, no. That was a good feast” Dag said. “If only I could dine like that every day”

“Then you will surely die early”

“I will die happy” Dag insisted.

“With so much meat and cream you will be constipated every day. You will have a shitty life”

Dag laughed. “Is that why you did not take the meat? Are you constipated often?”

“I do not like burning flesh. It stinks”

“Oh? Do Jotuns taste and smell things differently to Aesirs?”

Loki shrugged. When they entered the corridor leading to their cell, Loki fell silent.

“Come on, come on. Hurry it up” The handlers ushered them to their cell.

If anyone noticed that Loki went to lay where Tyr had last taken him, no one commented on it. He closed his eyes, and blocked out the irritating grunts and moans of his fellow gladiators who had had too much of a good thing.

No one spoke of any of their fallen comrades. It was the unspoken rule. But it still angered Loki that they could so easily act as if Tyr never existed. He did not want to think of his own hypocrisy that he spared not a thought for his other fallen comrades that was not Tyr.

He wanted someone to mention Tyr’s name, so that he could rage at them. So he could scream that _it was either him or me_. But no one spoke. And Loki did not dare speak Tyr’s name either.

He thinks that if he whisper so much as ‘Tyr’, he will cry out and if he starts, he will never stop. There is a sea of tears in him as deep as the tides. But Tyr is just another drop of tear he adds to this raging sea. Just another drop he will bear, no different from the rest. He cannot let the dead crowd his mind, for if he did, he would surely be paralysed with grief.

He thought of what to do next. The crowd loves him, but the King does not. Should he run and find another master that would likely throw him in the path of the King or Prince? Should he wait to be invited back again? Should he kill the guards and fight his way into the palace?

He held Tyr’s worn packet of card close to his chest, his fingers tight. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, one more ridiculous than the last.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because the next moment, he felt pinching fingers grabbed his upper arm. His eyes flew open.

“Up runt!” The voice snapped.

It all happened so fast. Within seconds, the handlers were pulling him to his feet, dragging him to the door.

It took a moment, a split of the second for his drugged mind to even understand what had happened. He saw Tyr’s cards lying forgotten on the pile of matted hay.

“Wait! I drop something!” Loki said stupidly.

They did not care. They were dragging him out the steel door.

“WAIT!” He shouted.

“Quiet!” One snapped.

In a moment of madness Loki screamed and lashed out. He wrenched his arms free. Slammed the head of the smaller handler against the door and punch the bigger one in the face.

The handlers roared.

The noise woke the sleeping gladiators.

Loki lunged to grab the packet of card.

Cruel fingers seized his hair and yanked him up, tearing the stitches on his scalp.

Loki cried out. Ice dagger spiked from his hand and he stabbed it through his captor’s thigh.

The man bellowed, releasing Loki.

The runt turned just to see the man raising his big beefy fist.

Loki hissed, baring his teeth.

“Stop this at once!” Manning’s voice came bellowing like thunder from the door.

The man halted, but his arm was still raised.

Loki’s eyes were pure unadultered fury and hate as he glared at the man.

 _“Go ahead!”_ He thought. _“Do it!”_

He wanted a reason to fight, to kill. Perhaps he should spit at the man’s face. That will surely do it. But the next moment the man lowered his arm and turned to Manning.

“It was making a fuss. I was simply teaching it a lesson”

“If you cannot control my gladiators without damaging them, perhaps I will find myself a new handler” Manning snapped unsympathetically.

The man said nothing.

“Loki. Come here” Manning ordered.

Loki dropped the bloodied ice dagger and limped over to Manning. Blood matted his hair and trickle down his head. His bandage too was wet with blood. In the time it took for him to cross the cell, all the ugly rage and malice that had twisted into his expression had been replaced with a cold calmness.

“Follow me” Manning started walking.

Loki followed, holding the worn packet tightly. They walked down the hall in silence. Loki did not ask where they were going. He did not ask why Manning would even bother himself to come down here. What does it matter?

“I’ve kept my promise” Manning said suddenly. “I put you before the King for you to earn your favour”

“Aye” Loki’s voice was steel. “And I’ve kept my vows to serve you faithfully and to bring glory to your name and house in all that I do. Yet, I have no favour”

“That is not my fault. You should have demanded of me something else”

“I see” Loki bit.

“You sound angry” Manning clasped his hands behind his back. “Have I failed you?”

Loki remained silent. He kept walking.

“You won’t speak to me? You think this stinking Aesir has played you for a fool and now he is here to taunt you no?” Manning asked. “Come now. What you desire is to serve in Vali’s House isn’t it? Not his favour. You want to serve beside your _beloved_ yes? At least you can be together even if in the depths of Hel is what you tell yourself isn’t it? Or at least you would have me believe”

Loki did not react.

Manning went on. “I do not care why you want to serve in Vali’s house” They came to a wooden door. “You want to kill the King? Slaughter his entire court? Raze his palace to the ground? It is not my concern. I am just the common people. Not a politician. Not a warrior. This King or that, royal blood or the blood of a whore, makes no difference to us common folks as long as we are left alone to our business”

Loki looked at him.

“I remember those that serve me well” Manning gave him a smile.

When he opened the door, Loki stilled.

Thor stood at the centre of the small windowless room.

“Your new master” Manning presented.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki could barely recognize himself in the mirror when Thor’s Jotun was done with him.

He was cleaned of every grime, his reeking bandaged changed and his wounds sewed anew. The Jotun put on him a green tunic, simple belt, black leather pants and boots. The materials were so light and soft compared to the boiled leather he had been accustomed to.

His black hair was combed back and styled with little braids that the Aesir lords were wont to spout. He did not mind it, but when the Jotun meant to weave silver into his hair and put the smaller bracelet on his wrist and rings on his fingers, he will not have it.

“You are his Grace’s favourite!” The Jotun said. “You must look the part. And he will be happy if you wear them. Show him you like your gifts”

“My gifts?” Loki scoffed.

He had seen the Jotun take the little treasure box from one of the cabinets. The box was even dusty from unused. The jewels had been sitting there long before Thor even knew him. They were certainly not Thor's gifts to him.

“His Grace loves to shower his favourite with gifts” The Jotun said.

“And how many favourites has he had?” Loki asked. “How many before me have weave this silver in their hair and how many children before me has don on these rings and bracelet?”

He was sure the rings and bracelet were meant for a Jotun child because they had not a prayer to fit a full grown Jotun.

“His Grace does not make a habit of purchasing children”

“But there has been a few no?”

“So?”

“I will not wear these. Take them away” Loki looked away.

The Jotun’s face hardened. “Just because the Master favours you, you think you are above us do you? You think yourself so special that you will not wear what has been worn by another?”

“No” Loki stood up from the vanity. He did not elaborate.

The Jotun hissed, snapping the jewel box shut with a snap.

“Come then, your _high holiness_ ” The Jotun growled.

Loki followed him.

Thor was sitting on the dark velvet lounge, reading a report when Loki was shown into the drawing room. The prince smiled when he saw Loki.

“Bring us some pastries and tea Carr” Thor said.

The larger Jotun bowed and left.

“Your Grace” Loki greeted. Still standing at the door.

“There you are Jotun” Thor tosses the report on the low table in front of him. “You are the talk of every street and every court across the realms. Even a toddler would know your name. The greatest gladiator, the Giant Slayer they call you. And now you are mine”

“Aye”

“Sit by me”

Loki went over with liquid grace.

Thor reached out to take his hand, and pulls him down on his lap.

"Your Grace” Loki smiled.

“You are a master of performance. I don’t think anyone would forget your match in a hurry” Thor tells him.

Loki’s blood went cold, but he kept smiling. He does not want to talk about the match. He does not want to remember it. But Thor does. Thor wanted to speak of the details that he loved. That the crowd cheered for.

“You really know how to work the crowd. The fire, the blood. The gore. Some near misses that almost stop our hearts. For a moment I thought your head was going to be loop off and I have lost my bet” Thor laughed.

Loki laughed too, as if it was funny.

Loki wondered if Thor knew that he had known Tyr before the match. That Tyr was his… _friend._

Surely not?

Or how could Thor still laugh and smile at what he was forced to do and expect him to react with equal enthusiasm? But hadn’t Thor met Tyr? Did Thor not recognize Tyr? Or did he think Loki is nothing more than flesh and bones. A killing machine. A beast made of ice without a beating heart. 

Or perhaps the Prince is playing some twisted game. Perhaps it was even him that had arranged it for all Loki knew.

“And the way you smash that thing’s face in. I heard some warriors actually threw up at that. Can you believe it? Warriors!” Thor shook his head. “I will have you know that I did no such thing” 

“Of course not. You are a greater warrior than any of those fools”

“The greatest of all!”

“Aye”

“And why is that?” Thor’s smile dropped suddenly. “Have I fought in great battles? Have I ever shifted the tide of a losing war? Have I slaughter a band of giants with my bare hands or rip the beating heart out of a dragon? Have I fought a dead match with the fiery beast Surtur himself? Have I found some hidden knowledge perhaps? What have I done to make me great?”

There is clear bitterness in his voice.

Thor pushed Loki off his lap to settle beside him.

The prince was not looking at Loki anymore.

Loki had offended the Prince. He wondered briefly if he should apologize or keep silent, sit until he was asked to go.

He does not know enough of this Master to know what he finds offensive or how he wants to be placated or what is expected of him in each of his _‘mood’_. But from what he has seen in their previous interactions are that, Thor is one thing when he feels like it and completely another when his mood sours.

The prince demands this now and then something else. He demands the truth, yet has his own version of truth. He angers at flattery even when he baits it and angers at insults no doubt.

What was Loki supposed to say to his declaration of greatness?

" _Nei, you are not the greatest?"_ or perhaps should he have said _"_ _The word among the gladiators and their masters is that you are less than the phantom of your brothers?_  "

The Golden Prince acts kind and generous one moment, cold the next and utterly selfish and cruel in another instant. He wears too many faces it seems he cannot decide which he prefers.

Which does he wear now?

Is this the Prince that seeks the vile serpent with forked tongue hissing sweet lies into his ears but forever one step behind the brilliant prince? Or is this the untouchable, the God Prince that cannot be challenged? Or perhaps the petulant boy that thinks only for himself while watching a distraught wife go after her injured husband without a care for her concern? Or perhaps in half a heartbeat he is one and then another; or none of them and this is yet another face of his? Or is this another one of those rigged game as Masters are wont to play?

“What does your Grace want?” Loki asked.

“What does ‘your Grace’ wants?” Thor looked at him. His fingers reached up to curl beneath Loki’s chin, his thumb caressed the Jotun’s dark lips.

Sapphire meets red.

“Perhaps ‘your Grace’ would like to sew your mouth shut or perhaps ‘your Grace’ would like to wrench out your lying tongue. Would you like that? Which would you prefer?” Thor asked. “I think my brother cut off the tongue of the eldest prince of Jotunheim in the last war when he tires of it cursing him as I tire of your sweet flattery, liesmith. What do you say? Shall we do that? You don’t need your tongue to fight do you?”

“Nei” Loki pulled his lips into a smile, his teeth bare as if a snarl. “Neither do I need it to _kill_ ”

Thor frowned. He pulled him fingers away.

“I will be formally introduced to the royal court this year. I will be paraded across the realm, so that all may know that I have step into arena. No doubt Lords will throw me gladiator matches as we pass their lands” Thor told him. “I want you to fight for me in the pit, and train gladiators to do the same. I want you to bring me honour and glory as you did your last Master. By the end of this charade, I intent to have the realm know me as more than just the brother of Vali and Baldur”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Their little convoy of covered wagon had been on the road for six days. The snow had fallen heavily all day and night, their fire barely warm enough for the young master and the wind had not been kind to the Aesir. Some nights it was so cold the young master stole a little wine from one of the barrels in their wagons to warm him up. He’ll just explain to his customer that he miscounted and charge them a barrel less is all. It was no big deal.

The forest was on their left now, and it was covered in a blanket of white. When the wind blew, the Aesir shivered. He wished they could go at a faster pace, but any faster and he would risk overturning his wagons. The bitter frost had left the ground hard and particularly slippery. Even his mare had almost slip earlier.

A pack of wolves howled in the distance, sending shivers inching up the young master’s spine. He never liked their howls. It always filled him with a sense of unease.

“Why do they do that?” Steiner asked his Jotun slave that was having no trouble walking beside his mare.

“They are just calling for their members Master Steiner” Audun said. “Maybe some of them got lost”

“How do you know these things?”

“Well, there are dire wolves on Jotunheim. I just suppose they must act the same”

“Are there lots of dire wolves on Jotunheim?” Steiner held his reign with one hand and rubbed his red nose with the other.

“The wild ones are mostly in the deep forest. The ones our military used to have are domestically bred” Audun told him.

“Military?” Steiner’s eyes are wide with interest now. “So it _is_ true that Jotuns ride dire wolves to battle?!”

“Aye”

"How big do these wolves grow?" 

"About twice the size of your horse I would say. Give or take"

“Have you ever ridden on one?”

“Nei. I am not in the military. My family were farmers remember?”

“Oh yes” Steiner sounded disappointed. "So you don’t have battle stories then?”

“Not ones with warriors in them. But we do fight off wild beasts from plundering our fields”

“I always forget that you were a farmer” Steiner said. “You are so very good with the sword”

“Most Jotuns have a basic understanding of how to use weapons. We teach them to our children when they are very young”

“Do you have children?”

“Not anymore” Audun gave him a thin smile.

Steiner understood at once. He shifted a little uncomfortably. “Sorry” He muttered.

“It is quite alright” Audun said, not unkindly.

He had known Steiner since the Aesir was a boy and practically raised him because the young master’s father was too busy travelling with his wine wagons and the boy’s mother preferred entertaining to actual mothering. He was not angry at the young master’s question. The young master was just curious. He didn't think this Aesir had a single spiteful soul in his whole body.

“Do you think you can teach me to shoot arrows next?” Steiner asked.

“We should work on your sword swing”

Steiner frowned. “But we do that every time”

 _“And you still cannot do it well”_ Audun thought.

“It is getting boring” The Aesir complained.

“All things will come easy after you have mastered that Master Steiner” The Jotun assured.

They move on a little more before Audun spotted a middle age Aesir man, waving at them from the side of the road.

“Master Steiner, there is someone ahead” Audun said.

Steiner stopped the wagons.

The stranger came slowly to them. The man was pale and lean. His cheeks hollow. His eyes were the greenest blade of grass and his undercut hair was darker than night. He wore a mesh-mash of clothes that did not match. Old muddy boots, tunic of royal purple with gold trimmings and loose brown pants.

The Jotun doesn’t like this. Though he could see no weapons on the man, but one strange man standing at the side of the road with the closest town being at least three hours ride away was highly unusual.

“My Lord! My Lord!” The man waved at them. His voice raspy. “May I have some water my Lord?”

Steiner looked uncertain as the strange man came towards them.

“I don’t like this” Audun whispered to his young master.

“Might be you could help me my Lord? I am a little lost and very thirsty” The man stepped closer.

“You will stop right there!” Audun unsheathed his blade from his side.

The man stopped, looking confuse and more than a little afraid.

“What are you doing?” Steiner hissed urgently. “Don’t be rude”

Audun ignored his young master.

“Where is your horse sir?” Audun demanded. “How did you get here?”

The man started to shake. “I don’t understand what you are accusing me of. I -”

The horses screamed behind them.

Audun turned. That was all it took. There was a cold hard touch and then blazing pain ripped his chest apart. A blade of ice pierced Audun’s back and out through his chest.

He fell. A tide of red pooled beneath him.

Jotuns were slaughtering his master’s men and looting his wagons.

“Greetings, my fellow Judas” was the last thing he heard beneath his young master’s frantic shouts for him. And all went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The moon was silver, and the sky was black as the iron gates that imprisoned him. Snow fell heavily all around him as he stood at the gate and gaze upon the mighty halls of Vali through the bars. It’s bone pale towers and keeps were a sight to behold, sweeping up towards the heavens; as if the entire structure were carved out of a colossal mountain.

His fingers curled over the hard iron bars. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. And for the first time in over five centuries…he allowed himself to whisper _his_ name.

“Byleist…”

His chest tightened; he fell to his knees.

He is here now. In the House of Vali. And beyond this iron gate, in that stone keep somewhere, his sibling, his beloved, his betrothed, awaits.

In his dreams he sees Byleist again and again and hears the tingling of silver bells in his snowy hair that cascade down his back like silver falls. In his dreams, he sees the child that never grows and he sees him in all his beauty and perfection. He sees an oval face, a perfect smile; narrow aristocratic nose, high cheek bones and translucent red eyes that burnt as if the heavens above. He sees a child that is ice and storm. Ruthless, brilliant, arrogant and overly confident.

“ _Lord that I may see that child again. Hear his laugh. See his smile, and the fire in him”_ He prayed in earnest.

He remembered a thousand little moments where Byleist had been a downright prick with his pretty little nose high in the air and a thousand moments more where Byliest had trusted him with unwavering faith.

He remembered Byleist declaring with absolute confidence that if Loki was for him, then not even the whole world can stand against him. He remembered being the one to chase away all of Byleist’s fears and being the one to make every impossibility possible.

He remembered also the look of absolute horror on the child’s face when their dam announced that they be promised to each other. He remembered how Byleist tried very hard to pretend he loathed the gift Loki gave him on that one birthday because he did not want anyone to know that he still played with dolls. And he remembered how they would fight but always make up by nightfall. 

Though one time, he was so mad at Byleist, he cut Byleist’s hair off when the younger was asleep. Byleist had cried his eyes out and by the Norns did Loki get in so much trouble with their dam.

Loki smiled.

Then there was that time where Loki had shouted at Byleist for jumping on him when he was trying to read, and Byleist had gone to the kitchen, grabbed a small peeler, came back with murder in his eyes and said with absolute seriousness _“I am going to peel you”_

Loki wanted to laugh at those innocent memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, there will be more Thor and Loki scenes from now on...sorry about this one.
> 
> Hope it is still enjoyable.


	5. Princes of Fire and of Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... did not mean to update so late. I had to move to a different city. Loads of unpacking and packing. 
> 
> But it's finally here. Hope you guys are still reading. 
> 
> Hope you guys will enjoy it. :)

There was no illusion that the first task in the life of Thor’s pet is to enhance the Prince’s many entertainments: hunting, hawking, riding, sword fighting, gambling, brawling, feasting and dancing. Thor liked to live in a continual roar of excitement and he loves to be the talk of the evening.

Loki being the most novel creature in court has the unspoken duty to ensure that Thor was the constant envy of flatterers that surrounded him day and night. He was determine not to fail. While his veil threat had not frighten the prince away, it certainly did not gain him any favour. He should not have let his emotions get the better of him. It was a misstep he is determine to recover.

From the first day we was introduced to Thor’s peers, he set himself as the prize to be looked upon with desire and jealousy while always beyond reach.

He would defeat and humiliate every Jotun fighter the little lordlings would pit against him in their mockery of a gladiator ring. He would throw their ladies a smile, give a look full of invitation and desire and then turn away as if he was ashamed of being caught, making them giggle and blush. He taunted the men too, if he caught them looking.

The room smelt heavily of the smoke from the lordlings' pipes.

Thor was over the other side of the room, listening to one ambitious Lord asking a boon of him – to speak to the King of this and that.

The music hummed beautifully under Skadi’s skilful fingers – it was the latest tune in Vali’s court. Skadi must admit that if there was one thing Vali has a taste for, it is music. And rumour has it that he would compose them then teach it to his musicians to play for him.

Half a dozen Ladies of the court crowded the oversized ivory piano, whispering to each other of how unnatural it is that a Jotun beast could play so.

Skadi smiled.

“I heard the duties of the gladiator extent beyond the arena” One little Lord leered, his thumb stroking Loki’s shoulder.

“Oh yes” Loki purred, turning to face the man.

It was as good an excuse as any to get off the little Lord. His back was getting sweaty.

“And do you know what else is true about us?” Loki asked.

“As a gladiator or a Jotun?”

“Both” He caresses a finger over the man’s wet lips.

“What?”

Loki let out a little laugh. He bend his knees and pushed himself up, crawling over the Aesir.

The Lord swallowed, his eyes wide.

“You see…we are said to be ravenous lovers my Lord” Loki caught the man’s ear between his razor teeth, and gave it a tug, making the Aesir shiver. Loki could feel the man’s anticipation, his imagination no doubt running wild. Loki intent to leave it that way. “Ah…forgive me. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to terrify you of what we do” He turned away suddenly.

Before the man could protest, Loki had slipped off the lounge.

“Loki. Be my partner” Njord called. “These ladies are robbing me blind in cards!”

“Let’s see if I can do something about that” Loki smiled

The Ladies lit up at Loki’s arrival.

Njord shuffled the cards.

Loki was determined not to look at the ruby studded armlet on Njord’s arm – a new gift from Thor. Njord was showing it off in their shared quarter last night.

“We won again!” The Lady laughed.

“Oh don’t get too excited. I am just warming up” Loki teased. He played as well as Njord, skilfully letting the Ladies win more than they lost.

The entertainment went on well into the evening. By the end of it, Njord and Loki had lost the fortune that Thor had given them to lose.

Thor slumped tiredly on the lounge. The sun was low on the horizon and the sky red.

“Here, your Grace” Loki offered Thor a cool glass of water.

“My brother should do his own entertaining” Thor drained the glass.

“I think you did very well”

“Aye. I should be rewarded. Lord Melton is infuriating. He wanted that land over the hills. Wishes for me to speak to the King about it”

“Ah…was that not the land that Lord Leif claimed was his?” Loki remembered.

“Indeed…I wonder who should I speak for now” Thor smirked.

The Golden Prince has the habit of playing the Lords like a complete angler, pitting them against each other. Pretending that he had been taken in by them, only to waver and change his mind. The only reason the Lords would gladly play the fool for Thor, lavishing him with gifts, flatter him again and again despite his blatant betrayal, and the fact that he look upon their situation as nothing more than some wicked game for him to pass the time, was because the Golden Prince did have the King’s ear, whether anyone like it or not.

“Perhaps I should ask my brother for the land for myself. I think I quite like that” Thor said thoughtfully.

Loki refrained from saying that Lord Leif is counting on Thor to put in a good word for him and that needed that land to pay his gambling debts or he would be ruined.

“Why do you take from your Lords?” He asked instead. It was of course none of his business if the Aesirs wanted to plot among themselves, but he is curious at Thor’s motivation for needless cruelty.

“Well, perhaps I like knowing these flatterers are seething on the inside yet they could do naught to me but sing my praises through gritted teeth. A fitting punishment for sweet tongued liars don’t you think?” Thor looked at him for a reaction. “You disapprove?”

“Nei” Loki said calmly. “I would not dare to disapprove of anything you decide”

“Hmm…” Thor handed the empty cup to Loki. “Skadi and you may go. The guards will take both of you back”

“As you command” Loki said.

Njord was not asked to leave. Loki tried not to think that though he might be sent for in the day when Thor wanted to impress, it was Njord that Thor summons to his bed or when he wants a companion at times when there is no audience. Thor favours Njord in a manner that was not extended to any of the other Jotun pets. He tried not to think of the possibility that perhaps however quick witted he might be, however enthralling he might be, Njord will always be Thor’s favourite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Vali was woken by the news that the Jotun prince had gone into early labour and was asking for him. He would have been touched if he did not know for a certainty that a call to him was not out of any sort of affection, but rather, the very real fear for Baldur. He was the lesser of the two evils.

“I am weary. You can tell him I have no time for this nonsense” Vali tells the sentries.

He could not go to the Jotun prince that night. Not under the context of being summoned anyway. He sent the sentries away and went back to bed. But he could not sleep. He got up a little after midnight and ordered another sentry to throw Baldur out of that birthing room if he was already there. Then he went back to more laying down, more twisting and turning.

Dawn could not come sooner. He took a quick breakfast, but not quick enough that those who were looking would comment that he was in a rush. Conducted realm business as quickly as he could and postponed everything that did not need his immediate attention.

He went to the birthing chamber after lunch.

There was a crowd of people in the hallway. Servants coming to and from the chamber had to fight their way through the lowly courtiers whispering of nightmare stories of a Jotun birth process, curious officers wishing to be part of something that isn’t desk work, and the crowd of apprentice healer hoping for a chance to peek into the room. And nearest to the door was Baldur, arguing with the sentries to let him through.

Vali did not have to shove his way through. The crowd naturally parted for him and his entourage of guards.

“Brother!” Baldur shouted when he saw him. “The nerve of this louse to throw me out!”

“Indeed” Vali looked at the sentry.

The sentry opened the door.

Vali stepped into the room. Baldur was stopped again. Before Vali could hear Baldur’s indignant cry, the door snapped shut.

Inside the room was like a scene from Hel. It was dark. Though the windows were covered in frost, the air was stifling with the reeking scent of blood and sweat. The sheets were damp and red and the midwives were brewing something on the fire.

The Jotun was naked, sweating and crying out in pain. Long snowy hair in a tangled mess, strands stuck messily to his pale sweaty face.

Vali stepped up to the bed.

“Byleist” Vali called.

“Your Majesty!” There was relief in the Jotun’s voice. “I thought you wouldn’t come”

“I am not your servant at your beck and calls Laufeyjarson” Vali pushes the messy hair from Byleist’s face almost tenderly. Dark shades marred the underside of the Jotun's eyes and his lips bleed from sinking his own teeth into them.

Byleist reached out to touch him with the stump of his once arm, amputated to his elbow by Vali’s orders, when he was first dragged to Asgard.

“I am afraid” Byleist gasped.

“This has happened before”

“Not this much pain! I will die!”

“Not today” Vali pulled a chair to sit beside the bed.

Byleist was in labour all of the next day and the next and Vali stayed. He sleeps curled in the Norn uncomfortable chair, woken again and again by Byleist’s renew cry of pain. He spoke to the head midwife when Byleist was in half sleep, muttering, whimpering, groaning and gasping, turning his head this way and that.

“He isn’t going to die is he?” Vali asked at one point.

“Nay. Jotun birth is always gruelling this way”

“This is not a live birth though” Vali knew.

It is a miscarriage again. Byleist had not carried long enough for whatever that was coming out of him to be alive. Just like the one before, and the one before and the one before. And his miscarriages is occurring earlier and earlier.

The midwife shrugged.

“Why can’t he carry a child to full term? What is wrong with him?” Vali whispered.

“Maybe he is too young? Jotuns mature slower than Aesirs I hear. Perhaps a body so young cannot carry to full term. I am not an expert on Jotuns. I can only speculate based on my experience with very young Aesir woman”

“It should not be so. Baldur have experimented. He has seen younger Jotun birth living children as long as their hormon-”

“Level is beyond a certain threshold yes?” The woman finished disapprovingly.

“Well…”

“Prince Baldur is intelligent. No one disputes that. But not everything can be boiled down to numbers and chemical formulas. A living body is more than that. Every Jotun is different just as every Aesir women is different”

Vali tightened his jaws.

“This Jotun is still young. There is no need to rush” The woman said. “And while he will survive this miscarriage, one day he might not”

“You predict more miscarriages? And that he will die from it?” He asked sharply.

“I am only speculating”

“You will do well to keep your speculations to yourself madam” Vali went up to the bloodied bed.

Byleist looked at him with half lit eyes, chapped lips parted in heavy pants. The fire that burn in his pale red eyes was dull with exhaustion.

Vali crosses his arms. He would rather have a Jotun of royal blood not marred by prejudice to control and keep than a tame one. Byleist is of Jotunheim no matter what anyone does. For what Asgard has done…for what he has done, he would be a fool to think there is not a seed of hatred in Byleist that can never be taken from him. And if there is even a one per cent chance that Byleist could one day somehow find the strength to challenge him and all of Asgard, then it must be taken as a certainty that that day will come.

He will kill Byleist once a child is born of him – the only living royal descendent of Jotunheim. This way, the prophecy will pass to a new prince with no ties to Jotunheim. And they will lavish the new prince with everything he could desire. Be treated as a royalty should be treated but with none of the responsibilities. They would make sure that the new prince will never wish for anything different. He will not wish for escape or a kingdom of his own. It is much safer that way…And as long as Asgard perpetuate it for every generation, the prophecy will be delayed.

Perhaps indefinitely.

It was perfect but for Byleist inability to carry a child to full term.

Vali poured Byleist a cool cup of water.

“By” He slipped a hand beneath Byleist’s sweaty mess of snowy hair and lifted the prince’s heavy head. “Drink”

“I am weary”

“I know” Vali puts the tip of the cup to Byleist lips.

Byleist drank thirstily as Vali tipped the cup and until he had drank the entirety of it.

It was in the early morning of the fourth day that Vali was woken to the shout of the midwives. They could see and feel a hard dark mass straining against powerful rings of muscles. The blood was flowing heavily.

Byleist let out an agonizing cry. 

"Push your Grace!" The midwife shouted with urgency.

"I can't! I can't!" Byleist shook his head. "I will die!" 

"Do it or you will surely die!" The woman spat furiously. 

Vali would have said something if his throat was not so tight at the moment.

"I will break!"

"This is not a negotiation damn it! Now push!" 

Byleist gave one mighty push, his toes curled, his eyes scrunched tight and he let out a strained shout. A distorted thing broke out of Byleist’s straining body. There was no cry of a new born child. There was no movement from the grotesque mass. A thing with head twice the size of its spindly body, and it had three white razor teeth stuck to its flesh in no logical fashion.

It was a mark of true professionalism that the head midwife did not step back in shock and disgust at the bloody thing on the sheets or turn accusingly at Vali and demand what dark magic or potions they had forced on the Jotun to make such an abomination.

Vali felt sick.

What in Hel did Baldur give Byleist? He was assured they were simply hormone potions.

The nurse hurriedly wrapped by the dark lumpy monstrosity that was supposed to be a living creature.

“Did I do it? Can I see the baby?” Byleist gasped innocently, his voice croaky from screaming. The fact that he was unaware that it was a miscarriage spoke volume to his youth.

The midwife looked at Vali.

“No Byleist” Vali said at once.

“Oh...” Byleist’s expression went blank.

For a moment Vali was seized with an unbidden fear that the pain and the despair of yet another dead child had broken the young prince completely. And that the prince would forever look without seeing and hear without understanding.

It should not matter to him though. Byleist can breed just as well in that state and it will be safer for Asgard too.

“I am sorry” Vali heard himself saying.

Byleist’s face never change. He slumped back on his sweaty pillow.

The servants bundled up the bloodied sheets and clean Byleist as well as they can.

“By…” Vali said gently.

“Burn it” Byleist tells Vali suddenly.

“You are in no position to make demands” Vali reminded him.

"I know” Byleist turned to Vali, pale and tired. “But if you ever have a heart, if you ever cared even a bit for me…you will do this for me”

Vali thought first of Baldur. He knows Baldur would surely want the monstrous corpse. In fact, he would bet his head that this was the only reason Baldur had even showed up.

“It is dead. Nothing can hurt it anymore” Vali said.

The midwife took the dark mass out the side door. The others carried the bloodied basin of water and sheets out the main door through the nosy crowd.

They closed the door hurriedly, leaving Vali and Byleist alone.

“You will have a living one soon” Vali sat at the side of the bed. His back against the headboard.

Byleist’s expression never alter, but he shifted closer, rested his heavy head on Vali’s legs and closes his eyes.

Vali pulled the covers over Byleist shoulder and lid a hand over Byleist’s snowy head.

“Rest easy” Vali said. “Not even Baldur will question you this soon”

“What if I never carry a living child?” Byleist whispered, eyes still close.

Vali looked down.

“What if there is something wrong with me? What then?”

Vali have no answer. And it seemed strange that a Jotun should care that he will have no progeny to pass the cursed prophecy to when it dies, and Asgard will be punished by the Norns for it. But Vali thinks more likely Byleist is worried of what Baldur would suggest trying and what Vali himself will agree to when push comes to shove.

“Sleep” Vali said. “You’ve done enough for now”

“Aye” Byleist croaked.

It did not take long for Vali to feel the cloth of his pants grow wet and realized that Baldur was silently weeping, tears pouring from underneath his shut lashes.

 

* * *

 

  
The Jotun Prince had miscarried… the rumors were running wild through the entire court. It birthed a monstrosity some say. A two headed monster. A great bat like creature with leather-like wings and a snapping jaw.

It took everything in Loki not to race to the Iron Gates and break it; to slaughter every Aesir that stood in his way and more.

He stood in the snowy yard, and stared at the mighty fortress before him.

The archers patrolled the bailey that stretched to the main palace as usual. Their golden cloak stirred in the wind. He could not outrun their arrows, and even if he could, he will not survive the break out.

There are more than just sentries and archers guarding Bilskirnir, Thor’s private compound. There are magical enchantments that allow only those summoned by Thor to leave. He could feel the seid biting into him, tightening around his heart threateningly whenever he stood at the threshold of the Iron Gate, staring up.

He had not expected his first bit of news about Byleist to be _this_ …

He thought back of that morning. The Jotuns were talking about it when he entered the kitchen with such an unconcern tone that he had not realized they were talking about anything of importance until he heard them referring to a _Jotun Prince_ and then followed quickly by the word _miscarry_ and then _almost died_.

His blood ran cold. He jumped in at once, demanding what happened.

The Jotuns were unconcerned; explaining the rumors they heard in such a matter of fact tone, they could have been speaking about the weather.

“Come in Loki. It is time for lunch. I made soup” Skadi came to him cheerily. He is a stocky Jotun with copper hair, a rounded face and gentle eyes.

“I am not hungry” Loki said.

“Oh stop sulking. Once you have a peek of him when he sometimes comes wandering with his guards, you will wake up too” Skadi said. “But don’t be too hard on yourself. We all thought he was some great hero that would deliver us from the Aesir. Clinging onto that silly believe when we were shipped like mere flesh in the market” Skadi lets out a throaty laugh. “How stupid”

“Indeed” Loki hissed before he could stop himself; turning to Skadi with such naked hatred that Skadi recoiled. “Indeed we are all fools. Expecting a mere child still playing at dolls to somehow muster the courage and force to take on an entire Aesir army in a manner that not even Jotunheim’s army could. Fools we are! Fools! What were we thinking?”

For a moment Skadi stood silent, unsure of how to react, then he said "He is no longer a child"

Loki turned away from Skadi.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The scent of mead was thick with the lingering scent of roasted game. The snow was falling heavily again, and the wind picking up. Each night seeming colder than the last, but the Prince’s room was always toasty with a roaring fire.

Thor couldn’t remember when it was last that he felt so carefree in the company of anyone. Fandral was regaling to them the tale of his latest conquest and the crazed father, with such animated hand motion one would think he was regaling a tale of war – though to be fair, bedding and ditching the daughter of an overprotective father, is asking for war. It did not help that Fandral picked a highborn Lady to do his bedding and ditching.

“Can you believe it?! Marriage!” Fandral took a large swallow of his mead. “The man is demanding marriage for compensation!”

“I am surprise this hasn’t happened sooner” Sif picked up one of the ice carvings spelled to never melt from the mantelpiece.

It was a good fit for her hand. It had what seemed to be four short legs, a roundish head and a nub for tail she thinks. She picks it up every time she was in Thor’s room. This was the one piece that stumps her. She was willing to bet it was one of the oldest piece and therefore most poorly executed.

“A turtle” She decided.

“Nay” Thor smiled. “Give up?”

“Nay. I will get it one day” It was like a little game to her. Guessing what each ice piece was meant to be.

She placed the little thing back, letting it sit next to another misshapen ice piece which she had correctly guess to be Asgard’s flying war ship and not some…. lump of ice.

The mantelpiece was a gallery ice carvings of varying success, gifts from Thor’s Jotun pets no doubt. But the piece that always stood out to her was a rose carving – that shimmered like diamond in the flickering light of the flame; and yet in the pure light of the day, she had seen it danced with all the colours of the rainbow.

She was willing to bet her arms and legs that it was something of Jotunheim before the war and very precious. A gift perhaps from one of the pets to garner Thor’s favour, or perhaps simply one of those art pieces taken after the war.

She turned back to Thor and Fandral.

“Perhaps you are not offering enough gold for compensation” Thor suggested.

“I will have my servant melt every cup I possess, and strip my home of every ounce of gold if that would be enough for compensation”

“You whine like a child” Sif commented.

“Oh I will do more than whine" Fandral vowed. "The old fool would have to drag me down the aisle kicking and screaming if it must come to it”

“And what gift would you like on your special day?” Thor chuckled.

“Death!”

“Surely it is not so bad”

“I am telling you, this is madness” Fandral huffed.

“It seems the player got played” Sif walked over.

“You are cold Sif” Thor chuckled.

Fandral shot her a scandalous look. “I am hurt. You wouldn’t even give me comfort in my delicate times?” He clutched his chest dramatically.

Sif raised a brow.

“Sit” Fandral swung his legs off the chaise lounge. Put his cup on the table and motioned to Thor. “Pass me the jug. Sif needs a few more drink to start speaking our language”

Sif resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She lifted her half drained goblet for Thor to refill.

There was a knock on the door.

Fandral stopped his whining at once.

“Your Grace, his Majesty is in the drawing room. He wishes to speak to you” The servant announced.

Thor frowned. He looked from the door to his friends. For a split of the second, considering sending the King of Asgard away or make him wait as if one of his attendees. But before he could do more than consider, Sif puts her cup down.

“It is getting late anyway” She said gently, as if to placate him.

“We will see you soon” Fandral was suddenly a lot less drunk than he appeared moments ago.

“Aye” Thor said levelly.

When Fandral and Sif were truly gone, he had the servant summon his brother as a sort of rebellion.

“Your Grace?”

“Did I stutter?” Thor pretended not to notice the defiance in his actions. His brother wanted to speak to him, not the other way round. Why should he go to him as if a well-trained dog?

He drank two more cups while he waited. He stared at the flickering flames.

The servant return with Vali and Baldur

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Thor wrapped his fingers about his goblet.

“I hear you purchase that Jotun runt” A deep baritone voice from which any trace of anger or annoyance have been carefully removed spoke. But Thor knew Vali was unhappy.

“Ah, took you a week and the half to speak to me of my latest purchase? That Jotun of yours sure knows how to keep you busy” He stood up, almost staggered.

“I want you to get rid of that thing” Vali tells him.

“Why?” He moved towards the fireplace, taking another sip of his mead “You don’t see it. You don’t hear it. How does it concern you?”

“It concerns me, and that is enough. I want it gone do you hear me?”

“Oh I hear you” He took a last swing of his cup, emptying it.

“Good” He heard Vali say.

That word was galling to him. He was always a good little boy wasn’t he? Dancing to whatever songs Vali sings for him time and time again. Was it any wonder he commanded no real respect? With a word from Vali, he would recoil and waddle back to his brother’s tune like a lapdog.

He felt suddenly a surge of defiance. A madness to defy Vali completely. He blames it on the mead.

“But you know...” Thor turns around to face Vali. “I think I will keep the thing around anyway. I rather like the thing”

Vali frowned. “Don’t be stubborn”

“Oh, I intent to be. And what are you going to do about that?” He challenged; the first foolish words of a child intent on testing his boundaries.

Vali did not snap. “You will endanger us all. Is that what you want?”

The smuggest of smile curled over Thor’s lips. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you are afraid of a little Jotun. Oh! How cowers the mighty Vali, the Slayer of Giants! Are the tale of your valour even half true? Or are they just that…tales?”

Vali darkened. For a moment Thor thought Vali would shout at him or hit him. At this point he was goading for it. It was hard to shout and argue with someone that was so in control. It threw him off balance and it was hard to keep the momentum going.

“Did I hit a nerve brother?” Thor smirked.

The King remained calm. “You brought a monster into our home”

“A gladiator!”

“A glorified killer”

“A skilled fighter that will train my gladiators! That will bring me glory and honour! And the people will know me -” Thor stopped. _They will know me for something. The Great Master or a failed one. Anything else is better than nothing…Anything else is better than simply brother of Vali and Baldur._ He couldn’t put the rest into words. But he didn’t need to.

His fingers curled.

“Since when do you train gladiators?” Vali asked.

“Soon. Do I need your approval for that too?” Thor charged anew.

“No. If you wish to train gladiators then by all means do. You want a Jotun to train them? That is fine too. We will get you another” Vali said. “A better one. More suited -”

Thor scoffed. “You must think me a foolish child to suggest I give up a fire Jotun. And one so seasoned-”

“Thor! Listen when I speak” He was starting to lose his patience “I am trying to give you the best and -”

“The best?” Thor almost shouted the word. “And for my own good, yes?”

“Thor”

“No!”

Thor has had enough of pretending this was about some damn Jotun. It wasn’t.

“Tell me. How is it for my own good when you send everyone but me into great battles? How is it for the best when you pull me from the battlefield and ship me home as if a child when it came time for true courage?!” Thor spat, shaken by the depths of his hatred and mead fuelled anger. “You take away every chance I have to prove myself under the guise of brotherly love. You will not take this from me. I will not let you!”

“I want only what is good for you”

Thor let out a harsh laugh.

“There you go again. You know what I think brother?” He took a step forth. “I think you fear that I would upstage you. You fear that I am better than you! You want to keep me a foolish child for all of my days so that you might shine the brighter!”

“Thor!” Baldur hissed. “How dare you say such a thing?! Do you think your brothers would go through all this trouble for your coming of age if we do not care?! You wanted gladiators, you wanted grand feasts, you wanted parades. I ask you this, what have you asked that we did not give to you?! Do you think we would bother if we thought so little of you?!”

“Perhaps you simply wish to take the opportunity to parade the wealth of Asgard for all to see” He said insolently.

“You test my patience”

Thor gave him a bland smile. “The words of a man who knows he has lost”

Baldur bit his tongue so hard he could taste the blood in his mouth. He turned to Vali. “It is useless to speak to a drunkard. Let’s come back tomorrow”

“Is that how it is?!” Thor flared, turning to Vali. “Every time we do not see eye to eye, I must be the mad one? The fool? The drunk? My thoughts so easily dismissed?!”

Vali was silent. His face betrayed none of his thoughts.

Thor refused to be the first to look away, from the brother, the man, the King that could so easily destroy him. If Vali wanted him flogged, he need only open his mouth. If Vali wanted to lock him in his room for all eternity, he need only command. If Vali wanted all his Jotuns dead, it was only a whisper away and it will be done.

“Come brother” Baldur urged Vali. “We are wasting our breath”

Vali ignored Baldur.

“I will send someone to add a few more runes to the runt’s collar” Vali tells Thor.

“And what use is an incapacitated gladiator to me?”

“The runes will not hinder its ability to fight for you” Vali said coldly. “You are welcome to be there if you so _distrust_ me”

Vali’s words were like a physical blow to Thor, but he did not let it show.

“Good” Thor said precisely.

 

* * *

 

  
He came like a thunderstorm, roaring and bellowing. Within minutes, sleepy eyes were wide awake. Tunic pulled over their bodies and boots pulled up their feet. A feast! A celebration!

“What is this?! Are my Jotuns displeased to see me?!” Thor was piss drunk. “Am I unwelcomed in my own hall?!”

Music! He wanted music at once! He wanted laughter. He wanted mead and wine and entertainment with less patience than a child. The fire crackled in the hearth, a flurry of notes crashed as Skadi played a lively tune on the ivory piano.

Carr had somehow found a steady supply of mead and scrapped together what cheese, berries, nuts, crackers and dried meat deemed presentable enough for Thor.

Thor wanted the children to dance and play and be happy. And so they did. Thor drank deeply, cup after cup. He shouted this and that. A different dance. A different song.

“Come here little one” He slurred, beckoning for one of the Jotun children.

When the child hesitated, Thor lost his temper.

“What’s the matter with you?! Have you forgotten your master?!” He bellowed.

The child burst into tears, and bolted out the room in terror.

The music stopped and just like that it was as if some sort of spell was broken.

“Norns damn it!” Thor hurled his golden cup across the room. It clanked against the edge of the fireplace and made a dent in the cup.“Have you all forgotten me?!” His face was flushed red. His watery eyes glared from one silent Jotun to the next. “I am your master! I am your master you hear me?!” He shouted, staggering over to the chaise lounge, he tripped over his feet and fell.

It was a pitiful sight. At that moment, Thor resembled nothing like a prince to be revered. He looked nothing more than a spoilt child throwing a tantrum.

Loki reached out to help, only to be swatted away.

“Play on!” Thor waved his hand wildly at Skadi. “Play the music damn you!”

Skadi returned to his playing.

Thor grabbed a new goblet from the table.

“Pour!” He thundered.

Loki hurried over to pour Thor’s cup.

“Sit” He whipped.

Loki slide over to the lounge. Thor puts a heavy arm around Loki and jerked Loki to him. Loki caught a whiff of his sour breath.

“You are mine and no one can say a damn thing” He growled.

Loki smiled, draping an arm over Thor’s girth. The Aesir reeked of booze, his breath sour and he was sweaty and hot.

Thor talked and talked, going on about a whole lot of infuriating nonsense. Speaking of his life as if he yearned for death. That he would look handsome if he were to lay dead now. Then he shuts his eyes asked Loki how he looked in death.

“Princely” Loki said sharply, setting his teeth on his temper.

Loki could slap him for the galling way he flings around death as if to die was a great joke; but instead, he played along. Preparing to smile and laugh always.

This was nothing if he could earn Thor’s favour, capture his attention… He needed to be summoned. He needed to get into the palace, now more than ever. If he thought begging would help, he would do it too.

He tried not to think of what was done to Byleist. He could not risk seeming less than joyous when he was in Thor’s arm. He must always entertain Thor with delight, as if Thor was all that mattered.

“I wonder what poem they would make of me when I die” Thor said.

“Oh surely they will speak of a Prince with hair of gold and lightning for eyes” Loki sat up to take the cool pitcher from the table and poured Thor another.

“And what would they say of this prince?” Thor took a swallow. A certain glow in his red watery eyes now. There was a shift in the Prince’s mood.

Loki smiled, going back to Thor’s sweaty arm. “The God Thor. The War God. The Thunderer they will call you. His eyes are the lightning and his chariot’s wheels roll in the thunder they will say. In flashes of gold, he descends upon his enemies. The blow of his fist rings with the quakes. No giants or sorcerers can withstand him. Tis’ the tale of the mighty Thor”

“Your literature is terrible” Thor chuckled. He took a last swing of his half drained cup and sluggishly sat up.

He ran his thick fingers over his sweaty locks and bowed his aching head. His stomach churned and he felt very sick.

“I think I am going to die” He murmured.

“Not today” Loki took the empty goblet from him.

“It is late”

“Your Grace is weary” Loki agreed. “Perhaps your Grace should return to the palace”

“Aye…” He tried to get up; swaying dangerously.

At once, Loki was on his feet, hands reaching out but Thor waved him away.

“Your Grace” Loki tried.

"Njord!” Thor slurred.

Loki looked at once towards Njord at the corner of the room. The ten feet, red haired Jotun shot Loki a swift triumphant glance.

“Your servant is here your Grace” Njord said smoothly.

“I think I will retire now” Thor said.

“Aye”

“I can see you to the palace your Grace” Loki voiced. “Let me accompany you tonight”

“Nay. I will not bore you with watching a man sleep. You should enjoy Skadi’s music. He is very good”

“I insist your Grace”

“Good night Loki” Thor gave Loki’s fingers on his arm a little pat and staggered off with Njord. 


	6. Carnival of Lies

There was the scent of blood, sweat and filth. There were small slimy, deformed creatures crawling across the greasy floor, leaving a trail of muck and blood. They crawled in the hundreds, in the thousands. Loki looked down see a Jotun so thin the skin of its face was pulled so tightly about its skull, it seemed it would tear. He looked down to see a creature with thin snowy hair, missing yellow teeth, missing nose and its entire body heavily scarred with old burns and lashes.

He could not speak, his heart hammered violently. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run and never look back. Except he knew in his heart of heart that it was Byleist staring back at him. Older now, hideous, broken, fallen.

Suddenly bony fingers grabbed his ankle.

Loki shouted, his eyes snapped open and he bolted up from the bed. His heart hammered wildly. His entire body soaked with sweat, his cheat raising and falling rapidly. The bedsheets rustled beneath him. He looked unconsciously to Njord’s bed. It was empty. He was still not back from the palace. It was more than likely he would not be back till morning.

Loki swallowed. He was shaking, his teeth clattering.

The moon was still high in the sky, illuminating the drifting clouds in silver lining.

He threw the covers off him and swung his feet over the lumpy bed. His head bowed, his jaws tight; his fingers gripped the edge of his bed so hard his knuckles were white.

 _“Byleist…”_ He thought in earnest, and then at once shame.

It was just a nightmare. Just like any other nightmare of Byleist he has had, only it was not. In every night terror of Byleist before, he had always screamed for Byleist, fought to get to him only to fail over and over again. To see Byleist die over and over again. And he would wake up angry, his hatred digging a little deeper; his heart a little colder.

But in every one of them, Byleist was always perfect.

Beautiful.

Powerful.

But in this one, he was not. He was broken and ruined. And in this one Byleist was right in front of him, with nothing to stop Loki from reaching him.

And yet, he did not reach out or even try to comfort Byleist.

He did not pull Byleist into his arms, saving him at last. In fact he wanted to run. To look away.

Why?

Because Byleist was no longer beautiful? No longer little? No longer a fierce fighter? No longer perfect? Did he only love Byleist when he is strong and fierce?

 _“I am not like them”_ Loki tells himself.

He is not like Skadi, not like _those_ Jotuns who only love their prince when their prince is perfect. He had lived for Byleist. He had thought of nothing else by Byleist over five centuries. His every move, his every word was for Byleist.

Who dares accused that he did not love Byleist?!

He refused to acknowledge that for all that he had lived for Byleist, the Byleist in his mind was always beautiful, unbroken and a fighter to the end. He refused to think that perhaps he had snapped at Skadi earlier was not so much the fact that Skadi was insulting Byleist, but more of the fact that Skadi was shattering the image of Byleist he has created in his mind.

_“I am different”_

The snow was falling again after the last few hours of relief. It took everything in him not to go back to the yard and looked upon the immovable fortress again.

It was useless to just stare and glare. It was useless to curl his fingers around the iron gates and longed and craved to escape them. If staring, seething and longing would do him one bit of good, it would have been him in that ivory fortress. It would have been him hurting and bleeding and birthing monstrosities. It would have been him in Byleist’s place; used over and over again in the vilest way imaginable while his own kin looked upon him with mockery, disappointment, shame… _disgust_.

 _“Do not lose your head now, or you will lose everything”_ Loki reminded himself.

He touched the ice charms on his wrist, feeling its smooth hardness under his fingers. His chest tightened. He needed to get into the palace. He needed to capture Thor’s attention somehow.

He thought of Carr’s words – that Thor is surrounded by courtiers all day, their sonnets, their teasing, their flattery that Thor is about sick of them and Loki was offering the same.

 _"You should act like Njord if you do not want to be forgotten once your novelty wears off. Njord tells it like it is and the Master finds it refreshing”_ Carr  had suggested. 

Loki could laugh at Carr’s ‘spectacular’ observation of Njord. The “blunt” Njord was just a persona. Njord is a Jotun of considerable cunnings. His ‘blunt’ word were in truth calculated ones. But be that as it may, even if Loki started acting ‘blunt’ he was offering nothing Njord was not already giving Thor. He needed to stand out, not blend in.

He thought of how he had captured Thor’s attention before. How he had once drawn the Prince’s eyes to him…And just _why_ he was bought in the first place.

It was another three hours before the first crack of golden light glimmer over the horizon.

 _“I need to get back to the arena”_ Loki knew.

Thor doesn’t need him as a courtier or a whore. Those things Thor have in plenty. It is a dangerous gladiator that Thor does not have. It is a cold, deadly and unpredictable creature that Thor does not have. And for an Aesir that enjoys a good hunt, it is the chase that is exciting, not the actual killing. Just as it is the taming a dangerous beast that is exciting, not a tamed beast.

Thor says he hates his _sweet lies_?

Loki is inclined to think what Thor hates is his lack of defiance, the lack of that coldness from their first night at Manning, the lack of ferocity and poison in his words that Thor thought he would get from the beast that kill countless gladiators. He was not matching the image Thor had of him in his mind. And because he was not matching it, he was a fake, his every words are lies.

He was ‘sweet’. He was tamed. He was no longer thrilling. And he spoils Thor’s ‘fun’. 

Loki heard the quick thumping of children’s feet running down the hall and their excited shouts and laughter first before he heard the news that Thor and Njord was back; and with gifts for all of them.

 

 

* * *

  

 

 _“Fabrics, jewels and sweets, is that the price of Jotun loyalty and pride?”_ Loki never actually said those words out loud.

The drawing room was vibrant with colourful fabrics, draped over chairs and sprawled over floors. The tables, laid with trays after trays of sweeties, truffles, cream puffs and toffees of red, green, blue, and yellow. The children were beside themselves in excitement. And there were five full chest of jewels on the floor. The Jotuns were looking through them, parading for the laughing Thor.

“Put that head piece on. Let’s see how it look on you” Thor beamed. His eyes were bright and clear, joyous and happy.

The child he had frighten to tears last night sat beside him, sucking on his sweets and sprouting a new gold bangle on his wrist.

Skadi was sitting in a corner, fully immersed in the music sheets he was given.

“Loki!” Thor jumps up when he spotted Loki at the door.

Loki bowed.

“There is my favourite Jotun” Thor smiled, snatching an armlet from the table. He leaped over the tangling fabric with ease and towered over the runt.

It was at this moment that Loki truly appreciate the size different between Thor and him. It wasn’t usual that he would be standing directly in front of the Aesir prince. More often than not, Thor would be sitting and Loki serving him.

Loki straighten up. Thor was a good head taller and twice Loki’s bulk.

“Your Grace” Loki greeted.

“Look what I got you” Thor showed Loki the silver armlet studded with emerald. “Njord tells me you were jealous of his”

“Did he?” Loki looked over at Njord who gave him a mischievous wink as if to say ‘ _Opps. Was he not supposed to have mentioned it?’_

Thor chuckled at that. “You all fight for my attention and favour. Oh I do enjoy your little squabbles”

“Is that right?” Loki whispered.

Thor reached over cheerfully, taking Loki’s arm.

“Here, try it on” Thor said.

Irritably, Loki wrenched his arm from Thor’s gentle grip.

Thor froze, his smile dying away. His face darkened. The room became still, as if the entire world was holding its breath.

“I need neither your gold nor your silver” Loki said sharply. “Give it to Njord whom you so love, your Grace” He turned at once on his heels and went down the hall.

There was a moment of silence and then thundering footsteps.

“Loki!” Large fingers snatched his arm and whipped him around.

Loki hissed, baring his teeth.

Sapphire eyes burning into him.

“You do not speak that way to me” Thor growled. “I bed who I bed. I give gifts to whom I give gifts. I will not hear of your nagging and whining. Do not forget yourself”

Loki laughed; his heart hammering against his ribs. He pulled himself free of those pinching fingers.

“Forget myself?” He sounded incredulous. “Nei your Grace. It is you who forget me. It is you who forget _what_ I am”

“And what are you but my slave to do as I bid?” Thor challenged.

“A gladiator” Loki said, taking a step forth.

His eyes burned. Red and fierce.

A shiver inched down Thor’s spine.

“I tell you truly, I am wasted in your court of fools! I detest your proses, your sonnets, your songs and false flattery. It sickens me to no end!” Loki spat in contempt. “Where are the men you intent for me to train? Where is my arena of corpses your Grace? Is this how you intent to torture me? That I am to spend all of my days idle with your little Lords and the most exciting moment of any given hour shall be guessing riddles?”

Thor eyed Loki intently.

“Are you asking to go back to the arena so soon?” He questioned. “You’ve barely healed”

“I’ve healed enough” Loki declared. “Put a blade in my hand and I shall show you just what you have bought with your gold. Put me in the arena your Grace, and I will honour you with blood and death and a legion of adoring parishioners”

Thor was silent for a moment, then he snorted. “I’ve seen so many tricks, do you think you can fool me? Loki lie-smith, do you think I would believe you wish to return to the pit so soon? I have yet to see a slave that escape the pit begged to return. And forgive me, if I find your sudden boldness a little suspicious. What games are you playing my little Jotun liar?”

“Do not assume to know me” Loki said.

“Ahh yes...my fiery little devil” Warm hands reached to cup Loki’s gaunt face.

Cold merciless eyes staring back at Thor.

“Did you want my attention so desperately that you would beg to dance with death? Shall I give you a kiss to sooth you?” Thor teased.

Loki did not respond.

Thor kisses Loki on the lips. Suddenly sharp pain sheered. Thor gasped, jerking back. His lips bloody.

The slightest of smile tugged at the corner of Loki’s lips.

“Did I say you could kiss me Aesir _dog_?” Loki whispered sweetly; a little reminder of their night at Manning.

Thor’s heart skipped a beat.

Loki turned away and continued down the hall, out of Thor’s reach.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thor could not sleep, shifting and turning until his sheets were a twisted knot. He could not forget the night at Manning. Could not stop thinking about it since Loki reminded him this morning. He remembered the way Loki looked upon him as if he were mere property, chattel to be used as Loki pleases. He remembered Loki making him spill on the floor when he was all fours. He remembered the fire Loki lit on his back, tearing shouts from his unwilling throat.

He turned again, hissed when the sheets brushed his aching cock. He thought of touching himself, but knew Loki would not allow him to if he were in the room. His cock twitched at the thought. His throat felt dry.

He wanted Loki. He wanted the runt to make good work of him. To deny him, to shame him and to set his skin on fire.  

He pushed himself to sit on his bed and shouted for the servant sitting by his door. He commanded that she get Loki and dismiss herself along with every servant and sentries in his chamber. He did not want to dismiss them himself, considering his state and it would certainly break the illusion that Loki was in command if he were spitting orders just moments before they got on with it.

He wondered if he should start up a fire or remove his straining drawers. In the end he did none.

He almost jump when he heard the clear click of the door. Cold crawled into his room. His heart thumped, his eyes wide with nervous arousal.

“Is that how you greet your Masters?” Came Loki’s voice.

Cold hard face emerged from the dark. The faint light of the moon caresses Loki’s lean form and gaunt face.

There was another towering shadow behind Loki.

It was Njord. Njord did not look comfortable to be there without a direct summon. Wondering if he should leave. Wondering if he had angered his Master.

“Loki-” Njord started.

“Stay” Thor muttered the only command he would give that night.

Njord smiled. His unease vanished and at once there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

They wanted him on his hands and knees at all time, kissing and licking their feet, their impressive cock, kissing all of them though their clothes and never once did they praise or even acknowledge him. He was little more than a possession.

Thor shouted as the leather belt landed on his day old welts and burning back. He had just time to inhale once before the next blow hit and the next and the next. His back was on fire, his aching cock strained against his too tight drawers.   

Every burst of pain sending electric pleasure shooting straight to his groin. His hips twitched trying to get friction for his cock but there was nothing. He wanted to be touched. When the next whistle of belt landed he shouted out in pain, pleasure and desperate need.

After the first ten minutes he stopped counting, after the first ten minutes he stopped thinking.

When Loki stopped Thor collapse on his chest, and he was only vaguely aware of Loki throwing the belt on the bed and Njord pulling his wet drawers off. He mewled when something wet, slippery and cold filled him.

“Please…” Thor lifted his eyes to see the runt’s feet in front of him. He reach forth to touch it.

Njord grabbed Thor’s hips brutally, and pressed the head of his cock against Thor’s entrance.

“Norns!” Thor exhaled.

He dug the heels of his hands onto the carpet, steadying himself to be taken by Njord. His heart raced with anticipation,

Thick glistening trails of lube stained Thor’s inner thighs. There was a slick moist noise when Njord started breaching him.

Thor gasped.

“Relax” Njord ordered coldly as he pushed in inch my endless inch. 

Thor gasped, his head bowed. No matter how rough Njord were before, when it comes to penetrating Thor he was always careful or he could so easily tear the Aesir open.

“Breathe” Njord said.

Thor nodded, pulling in breath from his nose and exhaling from his mouth, until Njord was fully sheathed in him, stretched beyond bearing. He trembled, unable to move, utterly impaled and at Njord’s mercy. He could weep from the sheer pleasure and pain of the giant’s bulk but Njord started moving and Thor cried out.

Njord rocked his hips, pumping in and out of Thor, pulling out to the very tip and ramming right into him, brushing Thor’s prostate, sending waves of pleasure and blinding pain sheering through him.

Thor shouted; his toes curled.

At that moment beneath Loki’s cold gaze and Njord’s mounting thrust, Thor ceased to be their Master, he ceased to be an Aesir, a being of mind and became an object for pleasure. To be used as brutally and carelessly as is pleasing and yet nothing was more arousing. But he ached for something, anything from them – a kind word, a kiss, some kind of comfort or praise, and yet all at once relished in the idea that they deemed him unworthy to demand any of it.

Njord grabbed the back of his hair and shoved his head down, thrusting into him with primal savagery. Electric pleasure roared so intense it pains him.

Thor could barely breath, barely move. Pin and helpless, he could only take it. His neglected cock tightened, twitched, drooling a long pearly stream of pre-cum on the carpet where it bobbed. He wanted to come, needed to come but knew he shouldn’t. Not yet. Not without Loki or Njord’s permission. Neither of his Jotuns had even once touch his cock and yet he could explode at any moment.

He doesn’t know how long they had been going at it or if the sun was close to the horizon. He doesn’t even know if they intended to let him come at all and he could almost weep at the thought of their cruel denial.

“Please…” The words tumble out of Thor’s lips before he could stop it. Then he said it again, and one more time.

“Please?” Loki teased and to Thor’s horror Njord stopped, and pulled out of him.

“Please what?” Njord grabbed Thor’s shaking arm and whipped him around, tossing him on his back. Red eyes gleaming at him.

“I don’t know…” He pushed himself up. He doesn’t want to be the one to decide what they do to him.

Loki move to kneel between Thor’s legs, a smile on his lips.

“You’ve done well. We are proud of you” Loki said.

Thor stilled. The sincerity of Loki’s tone filled something in him that he didn’t even know was empty. Proud of him? When was the last time anyone said they were proud of him? His chest tightened.

Loki reached forth to cup Thor’s face between his hands and kisses him tenderly on his lips.

Thor tried to kiss back, but Loki had already move on to kiss his neck, his shoulder, trailing lower and at last took him into his mouth.

Thor groaned.

Loki licked him, bit him, suck him from base to tip. He arched as waves and waves of sizzling sensation crashed over him. His hips lifted off the floor, a hand latched viciously in Loki’s ebony locks. His sweaty gold locks a mess, stuck to either side of his flushed face. He closes his eyes. His mouth parted in breathless pants, his face tightened with sensual concentration as his lower body clenched with that sweet mounting tension; sharpening and focusing until he could take it no longer.

“Norns!” He cried.

Without warning he was forced to his hand and knees again. He couldn’t stop the orgasm, so when he came it wasn’t in Loki’s mouth. It was on red carpeted floor.

The sudden change in Loki’s demeanour shamed him. The sight of his semen on the floor shamed him and the pleasure he took in the shame shamed him.

Njord kisses him gently on his cheek. Thor grunted, reaching for the end of his bed and stood to his shaking feet. The session is over.

Njord went to get his cover and wrapped him up.

“Rest your Grace. I will get the bath ready for you” Njord left Thor sitting on the side of his bed.

Thor liked a bath after every session. And a very hot one at that, as if he wanted to boil away every trace of what happened in the last few hours from his flesh.

Loki poured Thor a cool glass of water and held it to him “Drink”

“Watch your tone Jotun” Thor took it and drained the entire glass.

Loki said nothing more to Thor’s disappointment. Njord would talk to him after their session of this and that. Njord would try to make him smile as if to confirm that he is fine and that he enjoyed it. But Loki is cold like glacial.

Thor bet Loki would leave right that moment if he could. Just as when they were at Manning, Loki was out the bed the moment the deed is done, keeping him company only to make sure he had all that he need and the moment he slept Loki was gone.

If Thor was going to be brutally honest…it hurts a little, even if it was stupidity to feel hurt about it.

Loki did as he was bid. What more could a Master demand?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Beneath the faint light of the moon flowers the red of blood, the blue of sapphire and shimmering white of diamond bloomed in all their wonder and beauty. The willows swayed, their emerald leaves shimmered. If beauty had a name, it would be Byleist.

Vali watched for a moment in silent at the sleeping Jotun beneath the great willow by the banks.  Ivory hair weaved with golden threads. An oval face, narrow aristocratic nose and with eyes that burned as if the heavens.

It seemed it was not so long ago, that the lovely face was a savage one; glaring at him with burning eyes and hissing teeth. It seemed not so long ago that every word out of the prince were poison and curses. It seemed not so long ago that the prince had slammed his head so hard against the wall that he cracked his skull, yearning for death. It seemed not so long ago that Vali had to straighten the prince’s nose after a fight with the sentries. And it seemed not so long ago that it was the first time the Jotun prince bend the knee to him willingly, laying his head on his lap craving for his praise.

He bends down to pick the scores of music sheets sprawled all over the ground and right a bottle of ink. Then he went up to the sleeping creature.

“By” Vali brushed the snowy strands from his face.

Byleist groaned, opening his long lashes.

“What time is it?” He yawned.

“Time to get you back to bed”

“I don’t want to. I am still working on my piece”

“Work on it tomorrow. You’ve been in here all day. It is time to go” Vali said.

“You go first” Byleist said; looking away “Let me stay a little while longer. It is a beautiful night”

It is a beautiful night indeed. The light snow had covered the glass dome in a soft layer of snow like a new coat and the wind was gentle against the hard glass. But Vali knows that was hardly the reason why Byleist refused his own chamber. Byleist simply doesn’t want to be alone in his chamber after his recent ordeal.

For half a heartbeat Vali thinks to call the sentries standing out of sight to get their charge back to bed and be done with this whining. Always, for half a heartbeat he couldn’t care less for the comfort and wants of his enemy’s get. Always for half a heartbeat he hated the creature before him and would watch his torment with satisfaction. Then in another heartbeat there was the Jotun child that grew up in his palace.

“Perhaps I could accompany you for a while” Vali said.

Byleist perked up, a smile on his lips. “Would you like to hear what I’ve been working on?”

“If you wish”

“Always” Byleist stood up; his silver cloak draped across his shoulders rustles. Like a child he was animated with excitement.

Vali followed the Jotun prince down the stone path. Beneath a great willow, were two grand pianos facing each other as if a mirror; though one much larger than the other, and its seat much higher.

Byleist went up to his, while Vali spread the music scores out for him. Then Vali slipped over to the smaller instrument and waited.

Byleist lifted his legs, placing his toes over the black and white keys. He looked over his messy sheets a moment and started playing.

The music hummed beautifully, resonating through the dome.

Vali closes his eyes, letting the macabre melody washed through him, letting the poignant symphony resonate through his soul as he commits them to memory. And when Byleist was back to the first verse, Vali played with him.    

 

 

* * *

 

 

For once, the night sky was clear and bright. Loki sat by the ottoman at the window, staring out towards the white courtyard beneath. In the middle of the courtyard, is an ancient tree with thick ashen trunks and great roots that curl. The gentle breeze shook its golden leaves that shimmered in the faint light of the moon.

Thor having bathed was sleeping soundly on his four poster bed.

It was surprising that Thor did not dismiss him. He would have thought Thor would command that Njord stayed and that he go. With Thor having dismissed all his guards, it would be easy for him to sneak around the palace in search for Byleist. And if he was caught, he could always say he lost his way back to Bilskirnir. Thor would believe it hopefully.

He looked towards the door. He could still sneak out even if he had no cover story for if he was caught. It was tempting – but for the fact that his failure would mean that Thor would never trust him again.

He needed to wait. He needed to build trust.  

A shadow shifted over him. Loki looked up to Njord.

“Don’t need to thank me” Loki said.

“Do it again and I will break your wrist” Njord hissed.

“Oh come now, I didn’t even break his skin. I bet you’ve beaten him more severely anyway”

“Don’t play innocent with me” Njord snarled, grabbing Loki by the front of his tunic, jerking him to his feet. “Do you think me blind? I can tell when one is lashing in anger or not. And if I had not stopped you, you would have kept going”

Loki neither admits nor denies it, his fingers tightened over Njord’s wrist. His eyes cold.

“I never thought I’d see the day a _Naotum_ becomes an Aesir lover” Loki mocked. “Oh I wonder what your kin would make of you if they could see you”

Njord narrowed his eyes, He released Loki.

“Look at you” Loki taunted; smoothing the front of his tunic. “Playing the innocent, naïve lover, and for what? Mere jewels? A comfortable life?”

Njord is from the Naotum tribe that lived on Jotunheim’s raging seas. The fiercest of Jotun tribes – pirates; fighters to the bitter end. His proud lines screams his heritage. But Njord was far cry from a fearsome pirate and lesser than a lowly warrior. Preferring to do his battles with words and theatrics. While there was nothing wrong with it, it was matter of perception. For a Naotum, that is cowardice.

“You are an embarrassment to your kin and the heritage you bear” Loki tells him.

“You need not worry about my kin” Njord said. “They are dead. All of them. Their life forfeited by Jotun warriors under the command of the Jotun King to rid us all”

“And yet here you are”

“Aye. Here I am” Njord said. “To be a thorn at your side as my kins were to the nobles of Jotunheim and their precious ships and treasures. How is that for living up to my heritage” 

“Excuse me?”

“Your silver tongue is your undoing” Njord tells him. “If I have doubt of your status by the way you speak and behave, I do not anymore. You are too learned for a mere street rat. _Naotum_ you say. Not many recognize my lines and less yet refer to us by such _proper_ name. And I say to you, no common Jotun has _ever_ call us that”

Loki went very still. His fingers curled.  An ice blade began to form in his hand.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Njord snorted at Loki’s growing blade. “You are not the only gladiator in this room”

“Is that right?” Loki hummed. “From what I hear they make you a whore on Asgard. And such a good little whore you were”

“Shall we test the theory?” Njord lifted a hand. He curled his fingers as an ice blade bloomed, mirroring Loki’s in everything but size.

If Loki was surprise, he did not show it.

“You think you can challenge me and live?” Loki asked coolly.

“I don’t know. I hear you are the greatest gladiator in the realm and a kin slayer. But I know I can hold you off long enough to wake Thor. And that is enough”

Loki knows Njord is right. Thor was sleeping mere ten feet away. And if Njord could form blades of ice as simply as he breathes, Njord would surely not be so simple a kill as a slice across the throat before the Jotun could even understand what had happened. 

“What do you want?” Loki asked.

“Oh nothing little lord” Njord laughs. Stepping back he uncurls his fingers, letting his blade retract and vanish. “I just like to hold it over you. But be warn, should you pull what you did tonight again, I will break your arm and let the arena do the rest”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were loud cracks of the whip and harsh orders being shouted. Grunts and groans and cry. The stench of the camp was so appalling it was all Loki could do not to gag.

Thor though seemed so used to it he did not even wrinkle his nose.

One of the guards, sweaty and sooty waved to Thor as they passed, smiling and greeting the Prince from a distance like an old friend. Then the moment Thor’s back was turned, they were back to whipping the old Jotun, shouting at it to get back to work. 

The ground was landscape of jagged white stones – hard, sharp and broken, but Thor manoeuvre over them with liquid ease without a hint of pain. His footing so sure Loki wondered how often Thor came to this forsaken place.

Dirty Jotuns glared and hissed at them as they passed when the guards were not looking. Their teeth bare, red eyes cold. Their faces were gaunt and scarred, hostile, bitter, fierce and twisted with hate. Some were missing limbs, some noses or teeth, reminding him of his nightmare. Some yet was so starved and weak, they curled between jagged stones and sleep their life away.

Loki saw one Jotun sprawled on the stone under a black sheet and as they walked pass, the sheet dissolved into a thousand flies.

But for every dispirited, weak and dead Jotun Loki could see three more that curled their fingers just a little tighter over their metal tools, as if contemplating if it would be worth their life to attack the Golden Prince of Asgard and his blood traitor pet.

Loki walked a little closer to Thor.

“Don’t let them worry you” Thor said.

“They hate me more than they hate you” Loki tells him.

“Perhaps. But you are not so significant that they will risk their necks to kill”

“I thought we are purchasing fighting slaves” Loki hissed.

“We are” Thor smiled.

“Them?!” Loki could barely keep the surprise from his voice.

For a moment he looked at Thor as if the Golden Prince had grown a second head.

“You are alarmed?” Thor laughed at his expression.

 _“And with good reason!”_ Loki almost bit out.

These Jotuns that worked Asgard’s wall were all Jotunheim’s warriors; and one do not play with Jotunheim’s warriors on a whim. They are ruthless, terrifying and fiercely loyal to the monarch of Jotunheim.

Even Vali feared them. Which was why they were send to work at the wall - far from Asgard’s Golden City; and with runes carved into their collar that delivers instant death should the Jotun warrior try anything. And now Thor intents to bring these creatures back to the palace, to Bilskirnir, where Jotun ‘blood traitors’ reside?

It wouldn’t be long before whichever warrior Thor pick decide to make good work of Skadi, Carr, Njord and the rest of the Jotuns kissing up to the Aesirs. And they certainly would not take kindly to taking orders from a runt. What more a runt that is kissing up to an Aesir.

Loki wondered if Thor was punishing him for humiliating him last night or if Njord had tattled on him.

“Your Grace, these are not Jotuns you want to trifle with” Loki said. “They are dangerous”

“Aye. And you will Master them” Thor said jovially just as the head guard of the camp came up to them.

“Your Grace!” The guard bowed; though he was clad unlike any guard Loki had seen. The man wore old metal mail and leather; his red hair was greasy and he stank.

“How fairs you?” Thor smiled. “Are the Jotuns giving you trouble?” 

Loki did not listen in on their pleasantries. He looked towards the Jotun warriors at the wall.

He was silent when Thor picked his Jotuns from the ones the head guard brought him. One more terrifying than the next. They move to stand behind Loki when they were picked, glowering, hissing and snarling at the little traitor.

Loki stood his ground, back straight and proud. His red eyes equally as fierce and cold, a promise of equal pain or more should they try to cross him; though in truth his heart is hammering to his throat. In the end Thor picked ten, and ordered that they be send to Bilskirnir before them.

Loki walked silently beside Thor’s great black stallion as they returned to the Golden City, where once again the ground was smooth marble and easy on the feet; where the stone buildings sweeps to heaven high and the large golden bells ring to signify the hour. Where the streets were perfumed with sweet scented flower and roasted bread rather than shit, and the people were clean – well dressed in silken robes of blue, purple, green and red and the sentries were clad in polished golden armours.

Music hummed down the streets paved with many coloured stones, and colossal pillars studded with gems supported every grand building.

And to Loki’s shame, he felt he could breathe again. And to Loki’s shame, he was glad to return to the city and away from _those_ Jotuns.

“Loki?” Thor’s voice snapped Loki out of his thoughts.

“Your Grace” Loki looked up; realizing that Thor must have been watching him.

“What’s the matter? You’ve gone quite pale. Do those Jotuns scare you so?” He asked. 

“Oh no” Loki said steadily. “It was just the stench back there. They make me a little ill”

“Then we will rest here for a moment” Thor decided.

The Aesir prince dismounted his stallion and tied it to the nearest tree. Its golden leaves rustled in the wind and shimmered under the pale winter sun. They sat on the bone pale steps of the Grand Cathedral.

Loki had never seen the inside of an Aesir temple. He wondered if they were very different from Jotun ones.

Do the Aesirs embellished their pillars and floor with gems that shimmered in the light of a thousand flickering candles? Does the visage of Yggdrassil sprawl across their floor and their Holy laws carved upon their high vaulted ceilings? Do they carve statues in the likeness of their Deities and place them upon their alter? Do they come humbled on bended knees and crawl towards their alter to make their plea or do they strode in demanding as if the Higher Gods were in their service?

Are their Deities kind, or are they violent, cruel, and vicious demanding payment with blood?

He wondered if Aesir Kings ever knelt on a footstool embroidered with royal coat of arms and plead to the Higher Gods for mercy. He wondered if Aesir Kings ever prayed with increasing anguish for the lives of their warriors at war, begged in desperation for the tide of war to turn in their favour, and lay bare all their fears and grief to those on High.

He knew of a Jotun King that does.

Sometimes Loki think he could almost smell the fear on that alter of ice. Sometimes he imagined if he was to lick that polished ice, he would taste the salt of tears. His fingers curled, his jaws tightened.

Parishioners went up and down the hard steps; bowing to Thor as they passed.

Loki looked upon great ivory wall in the distance from whence they came. Gotterdammerug was her name. Standing tall, strong and powerful, as if she could weather a thousand storms and withstand a thousand years of war beating upon her.

From this distance there was not a hint of the rot, the plague and the death that surrounded her grounds day and night. From this distance she looked pristine even.

The gentle breeze blew, caressing over Loki’s features like dainty fingers. He let his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Thor reached to tuck a strand of Loki’s black locks behind his ears almost tenderly.

Loki opened his eyes, a mischievous grin on his lips. Scarlet meets sapphire.

“Here your Grace? On the very steps of your Great temple and before the eyes of your people” Loki teased. “If I didn’t know better I would think you are an exhibitionist”

Loki waited for his denial, his hot respond. But there was only silence. It stretched to a minute.  Loki’s grin grew strain.

“I am not so a careless Master that you need to entertain every second of the day whether you are well or not” Thor said softly. “I do care for you”  

“I know” Loki said quickly. “How can I doubt you? You choose some of the best killers to do your fighting and you honour me by making me the head of them”

“Loki I did not choose those Jotuns to punish or to frighten you”

Loki almost chocked at Thor naming his thoughts. Thor is watching him closely.

“You saw their living state” Thor heaved a sigh. “Many are sick, most are starved and all doomed to die in disgrace. It is a shame that they are so dangerous to us or they would not be put in such a state. But I had hope to give at least a few the chance to regain some form of honor”

“I understand” Loki said quietly. “You are kind”

“Aye. But you Loki my favored one, you come first, you must know this” He looked at Loki. “I know your kin has wronged you and you have no reason to feel a shred of pity for them. If you truly do not want them then you need only say it and I will command them back to the wall at once”

Loki hesitated.

Thor touched Loki’s shoulder.

“Don’t be afraid of me” Thor said gently. “Please, whatever monstrous Master you may have had, know that I am not them. Know that you can be true with me. Know that you can appeal to me. And know that I will never hurt you”

Thor sounded so sincere Loki wanted to believe him, but he’d be a great fool to trust in the words of an Aesir slave master.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if u mind that Thor is bottom in this chap, but he does switch about. He is not rigid about it and he can be both submissive and aggresive depending on mood... just in case people hate bottom Thor. Or the fact that he does enjoy submitting. 
> 
> Just want to say he won't always take the same role.
> 
> I wanted to try something different.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts.


	7. Liars and Traitors

The tent smelt of herbs, incense and smoke that tickled his nose. Little candles lined the animal pelt walls. An old witch with crooked fingers was bended over the star charts, her hooked nose so close to the drawing and once when she had stop to strain her half blind eyes at the chart for so long, Narfi thought she had fallen asleep.

His father says she is a great seer and it was their luck that they caught her in this little town. Well, she wouldn’t be doing great reading if she is sleeping would she?

He had reached over to poked her white head then, starling her.

“Narfi!” His father chastised.

The old witch cackled back to life like a rusty machine. “A curious one you are”

“Sorry ma’am”

“No need for that little one” She smooths her star chart.

“What do you think of my son?” Vali asked.

Narfi perked up at that. He was finally getting a reading. He loves these readings. He knows his uncle Baldur will scoff it off as nonsense and his grandmother will frown and tell him to not listen to these things. Not because his grandmother doesn’t believe in readings like his uncle, but his grandmother believes it is not for one to know the future.

They say his grandmother was one of the greatest seers in Asgard. She knows things before it happens but won’t tell anyone about it.

Narfi knows his father is angry with his grandmother because of that. And his grandmother is angry with his father because his father would oft consult the palace seers.

“I think the little prince deserves nothing but glory ahead of him” The old witch says tactfully. “Who can doubt that the greatest realm is his inheritance”

“Really?” Narfi beamed.

He wanted to know more. It was easy to inherit a great kingdom. It was simply something inherited by bloodline. He wanted to know if he would be a great King. As great as his father.

“Will I be a great King?” Narfi asked.

Vali lid a gentle hand over his shoulder. He look over.

“I want to be as great as you”

“Of course you will be. You are my son”

Narfi gets the sense that his father doesn’t want to press for specifics. So he doesn’t ask more.

“And should I read you your majesty?” The witch asked.

“Aye” Vali gave Narfi a nod and the little prince knew to slide off the chair.His father always takes his readings alone.

Narfi wandered around the hut. There were bottles with strange foamy liquid on the shelves. He looked back at his father. The witch pressed the tip of her silver dagger into his father’s palm drawing blood.  He turned away and went towards the entrance.

The moment he poked his head through the hanging pelt, a cold chill smack his face and white light assaulted his eyes.

He winched.

The world was bursting with bright colours beyond the dark hut. There were bells ringing from the food stall. He could smell the sweet scent of roasted caramel waffling down the street. There were brightly coloured stalls selling spices, plums, peaches, wood carvings, charm bracelet, necklaces, perfumes, fabrics and Jotun slaves.

Narfi couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of spending the entire day with his father. He always love their little outings. This time, they would be staying overnight in this little town. The sentries are looking over at tarot cards in the next stall.

“I think my girl would like this” One said.

“You are bedding a sorceress?” Another said in disbelief. “What are you thinking? You must be a braver men than I thought”

“I am thinking I look mighty good between those thighs”

They laugh.

A lean Jotun slave for sale at the opposite stall smiled at him. The Jotun was cleanly shaven and Narfi thought he has a kind smile. 

Narfi waved shyly.

The man minding that bright green stall saw him looking and beckoned at him. Though he was sitting, he looked a mountain. His shoulders broad and his features severe.

Narfi’s heart thumped. He looked back at his father again, then the two sentries. No one was paying attention to him.

Narfi knows he really shouldn’t. But the slaver was urging him over. He was even opening the silver cage, bringing out the kind looking Jotun for him.

“Um…” He made a sound.

He took a step, and then two; hesitantly inch closer to the stall. 

“He-Hello” Narfi stammered.

“Hello little one” The Jotun bends over the counter. “I see you coming from the seer. Did you have a good reading?”

The slaver went towards the back of the stall, not wanting to scare off his little customer, but his sharp eyes was still on them.

“Aye” Narfi said. “Says I will have glory in front of me”

“I don’t doubt. I can see the great warrior in you”

Narfi swelled with pride. Straightening up. “I am learning seid now” He said.

“Ah. So you are to be a sorcerer warrior”

“Aye!”

“Though I am not one, I can do simple tricks”

“You know seid?” Narfi’s eyes lit up. “Can you do illusions? I find that very hard to make”

The Jotun smiled, uncurling his clenched fingers to reveal a little ice griffin. “Its been spelt not to melt” The Jotun offered.

Narfi took it gently. It was the right size for him to hold. It was cold, but not so that it numbs his fingers.

“I can do a bit of illusion” The Jotun continued. “But I am not very good. Perhaps we can learn together. Makes it more fun no?”

Narfi doesn’t think learning together makes conjuring illusions more fun. He has a whole class to learn with and it was still decidedly not fun. Before he could say so, a hard voice cuts.

“Narfi! Get back!”

The Jotun looked up, and paled. Vali was behind his son in a heartbeat. His guards barely keeping up.

“Your Majesty!” The slaver called, scurrying back from the back of the tent. “I think your little one has taken a liking to our Sol. It is very good with children”

“I am sure” Vali touched Narfi’s shoulder, urging him along.

“Oh no? Not looking for a companion your majesty? How about this one then?” The slaver was a man with a fast tongue. He hurried to another cage with Jotuns twice the size of Sol and Narfi thought twice as mean too.

Their face severe and their eyes cold. They don’t even smile.

“Protection!" The slaver boomed. "These ones are good for protections. Pretty decent with a sword and will sure scare any bandit that comes within forty feet of your little one! I hear those useless crooks are starting to come out of the woodworks again this winter! Targeting travellers from what I hear!”

“We have guards for that” Vali said crisply, moving faster.

“Oh! Oh! Of course! Oh come back! We ha-”

They move down the coloured stone path.

“Narfi” Vali said after a while.

Narfi stopped playing his griffin at his father’s tone. His smile vanished.

“What did I say about wondering off?”

“Sorry father”

“Are you really? This isn’t the first time you wandered off without a guard. What if that creature had wanted to hurt you?”

Narfi shrugged.

Vali frowned at that. He kneels down and pulls Narfi to him. Narfi pointedly look away, his eyes welling up.

“Look at me” Vali said firmly.

“I don’t like you mad at me” Narfi sniffled.

Vali heaved a sigh and lid a hand over Narfi’s head. The boy's meekness and tendency to shy away from confrontation worries him. It would be hard enough for Asgard to stand behind a King with bones as brittle as glass; a King that cannot lead in battle. Narfi needs to show ferocity and strength at least in character if he ever wish to be respected. As it is, Narfi is none of those things.

 _“Byleist would have spoken back even as a child”_ Vali thought; and then belatedly _“Not against me though. Not even now. He wouldn’t dare. But against anyone else he’d fight back tooth and nail even if he knows he was going to lose”_

But that wasn’t the case for Narfi he knows. He watched Narfi for a moment, then gently take the ice from him.

“It is so much prettier than Byleist’s ice isn’t it?” Narfi said.

“Aye” Vali’s thumb caresses the detailed sculpture.

A griffin.

Laufey’s sigil.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The maids and servants were bustling back and forth in the courtyard with stacks of linens, carts and trunks. Byleist watched from his window seat. Two servants dropped a leather trunk they were carrying between them and the old leather strap snapped. The cover popped open. Tomes that had been forcefully jammed into the too small trunk slid and fell. Loose pieces of paper scattered. The wind picked them up. The servants shouted, scrambling for the papers.

_“Hurry, hurry, they are getting away”_

He watched unconcern, as the wind sweeps the papers out of the yard.

“Pity. I hope Baldur won’t be needing them” He hummed spitefully.

Knowing Baldur, they are all important. And there was no doubt those tomes belonged to Baldur. Only Baldur would think of taking a library with him on a years’ road trip.

“Well, he won’t be needing them if he would have taken my offer to brew him a memory potion” Iarnvidia said from the chair where he sat with his needlework. “See, I never forget a thing after taking them”

Byleist snorted at that.

Iarnvidia looked up. “Oh you think me lying, child? I’ll have you know I’ve brewed potions that can bewitched the mind, pull memories from one’s head and -”

“Then perhaps you can brew me a potion that would take the frost from my veins, the lines from my skin and the red from my eyes” Byleist said coldly. “Brew me a potion that will make me Aesir”

He hates the Jotun sorcerer. He was an old ugly thing Byleist thought nastily; full of wrinkles, angry scars that blotched both his arms, sagging skin, potbelly and no hair to speak of. He hates the filthy Jotun at the best of days, and now he could barely stand the sight of him.

Iarnvidia, the oh-great-sorcerer, the oh-great healer of Jotunheim whom had never lost a child on the red bed as the creature liked to boast, had failed to keep his child alive again. And _he_ had in turn failed Vali again. His chest tightened at the thought. He had tried so hard. He had stayed in door, he had tried not to move too much, not argue, be good… be very good… He had thought he could keep this one. He had hoped...

Iarnvidia smiled at him, with that infuriating smile, as if he knew better. “And why would you want that child? You have such lovely lines”

“Why not?” Byleist challenged. “What is there to be proud of a heritage that’s riddled with child mutilation, incest, ableism, infanticide, genocide, regicide and matricide? Would that I could, I would rid myself of this disgusting heritage in a heartbeat!”

“How rude. Surely I raise you better than that”

“You didn’t raise me you lying Jotun!” Byleist snapped. “Vali did. He raised me. Protected me.”

“Tsk tsk tsk” Iarnvidia clucked his tongue. “You would like to think so wouldn’t you”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“I know a story of a creature that forget its roots and wandered the realm pretending it was something else”

“I don’t want any story” Byleist said. “And I don’t care for your filthy Jotun tale”

“Aye” Iarnvidia said with that smile again. “You like my stories only after I twist them. Make the Jotuns in them lying, conniving little vermin, aye? Shall I twist one for you”

“No! You stupid old thing!”

“I know a story of a rude prince”

Byleist wanted to throttle him. He didn’t care for one of Iarnvidia’s dark and twisted tale. He didn’t care for Iarnvidia’s company. He didn’t care for a Jotun’s company. Period.

He wanted to get out of the palace with Vali and Narfi. He wanted to visit the next town with them. But he had woken up and gone to breakfast only to be told that Vali and Narfi had left for the day.

Vali didn’t even mention that he and Narfi would be going out on a little trip yesterday night. And Narfi didn’t mention it to him either. Usually if he kept his ears open he would hear about the trip being whispered and he would make his best effort to _accidentally_ walk into the stable in time to see them prepare to leave and tag along. Or hint that he knew of it and wanted to come. But this time and like the last few times, he had not heard a pip.

 _“Why was I not told?!”_ He had demanded petulantly this morning.

 _“My brother wishes to spend time with his child. Why is there a need to inform you of it? You are not my brother’s child”_ Baldur had replied.

The words were a knife though Byleist.

“I could tell you the story of Ice and Fire. The tale of the two kings of Jotunheim” Iarnvidia said. “You always like the fire king”

Every Jotun knows the tale of the two warring Kings, that after much deceit, cunning manoeuvre, lies, murder, betrayal and botched assassination attempts came at last together to build the greatest civilization the realms had ever seen. The Jotuns have it in five thick volumes. And so proud were they of their literature, they also had it rendered into picture books for the children.

Byleist had read those picture books in another life and obsessed over it then. But now grown, disillusioned, he hated it. The tale was simply Jotun propaganda of the greatness of the Jotun monarch. But even if he weren’t disillusioned, he never liked the Fire King.

“I refuse to listen to that garbage” Byleist tells him. Not even Iarnvidia’s _twist_ could save that tale.

There was a commotion in the yard. More and more maids and servants gathered, speaking to each other urgently. Sentries and guards rushed pass them, spears, sword and shield at the ready.

The bell rang.

_Bong!_

_Bong!_

_Bong!_

Byleist stood up. His pupils blown wide. There were loud footsteps thundering down his corridor.

“My my…” Iarnvidia stood up slowly, his sewing in his bony fingers.

The door _bang_ open. Golden sentries poured in.

“What’s going on?!” Byleist demanded at once.

“We need to move you to another room!” The leader ordered.

Before Byleist could so much as open his mouth again, hard metal fingers grabbed his upper arm and hauled him. He almost trip. The other sentries took their position beside him, forming a sort of Aesir shield around him.

“What’s happening?”

“Jotuns” That sole word made Byleist’s gut twist.

He followed them quickly down the hall. Sentries rushing in the opposite direction. He ignored the deep ache in his belly and the wetness between his legs. He was bleeding again but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted to get away from those delusional Jotuns.

He craned his neck to see Iarnvidia huffing and puffing, barely able to keep up with them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“Your Lords demand blood and by the Norns, your brother Baldur will give it to them!”_ Fandral had been frantic when he finally found them at the marketplace.

Lightning streaked through the rumbling clouds and the thunders roared with the voice of Thor. The wind bellowed and shrieked, booming through the hall. Hails the size of melons, harder than stones smashed the wooden stables and striking dead animals grazing in the fields. The ground trembled, and groaned sending debris crumbling down.

Thor threw the door open. At once a harsh silence descended upon the throne room. The Lord screaming for the blood of his Jotuns could only stare at him, eyes wide with uncertainty and hints of fear.

Thor had no illusion that he could save his Jotuns the moment he reached the palace and saw the uncertain look in the stable boys eyes. And if that was not enough hint, the black smoke rising from Bilskirnir told him all that he needed to know. He walked into the throne room, keeping his breathing calm and face cold. Only the rumbling of his thunder betrayed him, screaming to the world that he was not as calm as he appears.

He was aware of the eyes that followed him as he walked towards Baldur on the dais. He was aware of the muttered voices as they wondered if they could take the Jotun runt trailing behind him away too; as they wondered what he would do. How he would respond.

“So you have return brother” Baldur said calmly.

He was seated on Vali’s golden throne as if he belonged there. Frigga sat beside him. His guards stood at either side, fingers tight on the handle of their sword, ready to sheath them at a seconds notice.

“You take me for your brother do you?” Thor growled, his lips curled. “You trespass upon my land. Defile my hall and set it ablaze. Those are actions of a _brother_ are they?!”

“Oh but they are” Baldur said, his voice ice. “You brought Jotun warriors into our gates. Jotun warriors who went on to slay over a hundred of our warriors before they were fell. Jotuns who would gladly slew _every one_ of us in this room if they could. I tell you truly Thor, if you were not my brother, I would have commanded my men to put you in chains and have you publically executed by dawn after we were done with your beast. Be grateful we ask no more than the life of your pets as penance for your folly!”

“You have no right to touch what is mine without trial!” Thor thundered.

“You have been tried and found guilty beyond doubt”

“By who? You? My judge, my jury and my executioner?!” He charged. “Have I not the basic right to look my accuser in the eye as they condemn me?! Have I not the basic right to defend myself?!”

“Look around you” Baldur motioned to the room. “Here are your juries and your accusers. Look them in the eye then, and say you are innocent. Defend your folly. Speak your piece! Let’s hear it! And if we are dissatisfied, perhaps I will have _that_ runt too”

At once the room seemed to sharpen. All eyes turned to the Jotun runt, except Thor’s.

Loki stilled, but Thor did not even spare him a glance. He wondered briefly if Thor even remembered he was there or if he was so consumed in his rage and snubbed pride, that all he could care was himself.

Thor walked up and down the room once, surveying each hated face that dared not meet his. Accusing tongues strangely still. They would shrink like ebbing tide where Thor stood, eyes turned sideward as if the prince was a terrible sight to behold.

Thor sneered in disgust. “I need not answer to cowards and liars. Let he who condemn me step forth and I will answer him”

“With what? Your fist?” Baldur snorted.

Someone coughed, to cover a laugh. A tug at ones lips threatening to turn tight lines into smiles. Lord Leif was not even bothered to hide his satisfaction.

Liars.

Cowards.

Backstabbing hypocrites.

 _“I will remember this”_ He thought “ _When you plead for gifts I will give you snakes. When you plead for a mediator before my brother, I will be your executioner”_

Thunders crashed.

Thor stared at his brother’s steel blue eyes.

“You think that chair protects you do you? You think Vali would keep you safe do you?” He took a step forward to his brother. “You have trespass against my halls. You have slew those under my protection and tried me unjustly in your craven court. You have dishonoured me! I call you out Baldur Odinson! Name the place and the time you will meet me!”

At once the hall erupted.

Thor took pleasure at the shock that crossed Baldur’s cold eyes.

“Have you taken leave of your wits?!” Frigga shouted, her voice barely audible over the deafening cries of the crowd.

It took a hundred sentries pounding the butt of their spears on the floor to quiet the room again. By then, Baldur had recovered himself.

“Will you answer me? Or shall you wait for King Vali to return to speak for you” Thor goaded.

“This is folly!” Frigga declared. “That the cuc-”

“Noon!” Baldur cuts “Noon on the fifth day, I will meet you in the courtyard”

Frigga’s eyes were poison as she glared at Thor. Once that look would have send him running. It might even have send him crying; but now, he was used to it.

Later, back in his chamber, he sends all his servants away and have Loki prepare his bath. He unclasped his cape and pour himself a drink. He felt strangely numb and even the earthy flavour of whisky tasted like water to his tongue. He did not hear Loki telling him his bath was ready. He did not even realize that Loki had moved across the room until cold fingers touched his hand, stirring him.

Thor could tell that Loki was hesitant, uncertain how to act. So Thor spared him the need to speak. He puts down his glass and went to the bath, not caring if Loki would trail after him.

A little later Loki laden his hair with scented soap, and scrubbed his back till he was pink. Afterwards, hard fingers pressed methodically over the sole of his feet and calves to ease the aches.

“You will return to Bilskirnir tomorrow and count every jewel and silver in that place” Thor said suddenly. “If a diamond is missing, you will inform me. If a ring is unaccounted for, you will tell me”

“Your Grace, I would not know the number of rings and diamonds there should be"

“Then you will count them and report the numbers to me. Those sentries best pray not one of them remove a single gold piece from Bilskirnir, for to steal from my pet is to steal from me. And the penance for stealing from a prince is death”

“You would dishonour and put to death sentries that acted on command?” Loki knew he was right.

Thor does not know the exact number of gems and jewels in Bilskirnir. Not even Carr kept record of that. And with Bilskirnir in disarray it is nigh impossible to find every gem that might have been tossed across the ground in the tussle. Whatever number he reported to Thor, Thor would claim more were missing.

Thor’s lips tightened.

“I would put to death dishonourable thieves” He pulled his feet away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thunder continued to rumble through the night. The fire crackled in the hearth as it licked the glowing wood.

Thor was slumped against his leather chair, cup in hand. One empty bottle of whisky stood on the table beside him and another was half gone. All night, he had been pouring his own drink, and when he was finished with the bottle, he would stumble to the cabinet for more. He barely uttered a word at all beyond that little exchange with Loki. Barely moving from his seat unless he was bringing his glass to his lips.

His eyes burned as he stared at the dancing flames.

A shadow passed Thor as Loki went to stoke the fire.

“Njord doesn’t like the fire very much…” Thor murmured. “He has the strangest stories about them. He has the strangest stories about a lot of things”

“I imagine he would have” Loki went over to Thor.

“Did you know mirrors makes him uncomfortable. He kept saying he half expect his reflection to move on its own” Thor let out a chuckle. “He would insist on covering every damn mirror in the room when he was over. I told him I might just put a great mirror on the ceiling one day”

“That’s why there isn’t a mirror in here at all? And the ones in the bath are covered?”

“Don’t be a fool” Thor snorted. “What Gods are led by the will of beast”

“This one…” Loki reached down to take Thor’s free fingers in his own.

“This fool God?”

“Nei…” Loki tells him. “You have heart, your Grace”

Thor puts down his glass and pulled Loki down to him. His head bowed against Loki’s chest as hands came to cradle him.

“Do not lie to me. Do not flatter me. I do not need them” Thor whispered.

“I do not”

Thor shook his head.

“I need friends Loki, not flatterers. I know you do not trust me to speak things plainly yet. I can wait. But Loki…” He looked up. “Do not ever play me for a fool. Do not ever betray me”

“I would never your Grace” Loki whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Narfi could tell that the news from the palace this morning was terrible. He could see it in his father’s tired eyes. His father was also trying overly hard to be cheerful as they broke their fast and the servants were loading the last of their things onto the carriage. His father tried very hard to make him laugh, to make him smile, be attentive. But when his father laugh at his jokes, it was just a little too loud and a little too long.

Narfi wanted to tell his father that he did not need to try so hard. He understands. It was alright. His father didn’t need to always be cheerful and enthusiastic in front of him. It was alright to have good days and bad days. His father just needs to remember the good days when he was having a bad one and know that it will surely pass. Just like how he would remember the sun and fun when he was so sick in his bed at times he could hardly breathe and ached all over.

Sometimes he wished he could be the sword swinging warrior son any father would be proud of. That way his father would have more to smile about, rather than his silly stories which he must have told a thousand times.

Sometimes he wished he was older too, then his father would be able to talk to him more and cast his burdens on him. Then his father would not look so tired all the time.

He just wanted his father to be happy… But he was none of those things. He was not a sword wielding warrior and would never be – there are somethings he did not need to be told; and he could not understand the complexity of his father’s problem. All he has are his words which seemed woefully insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

“You will be alright father” Narfi offered nonetheless.

Vali halted in tearing his bread, surprised.

“Everything will turn out alright...you’ll see” Narfi tried.

And just like that he made his father smile, and it was a genuine smile he knew. It was not overdone, it was not stiff.

Vali reached over to lid a hand over his son's head.

“You are a good boy Narfi” He said, and meant it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki could see fire in the night, glimmering against the side of the ivory palace. A dozen brazier burn along the courtyard just over the iron gates of Bilskirnir. Bells rang in the distance, muffled shouts of commands too far for his ears to make out the words could be heard.

He looked back at his hand, counted the diamonds and promptly wrote it down before tipping them into their velvet pouch.

 _“This is madness and folly”_ Loki thought as the whistle to steel grew louder.

Sentries killing sentries under Thor’s command. Accusations were flying. Insults were being hurled and swords and spears drawn as ludicrous charges were being read.

_Let the treasures be counted again! By the Norns we took nothing!_

Those who would not go quietly to the dungeon to await trial were slaughtered for resisting arrest. Those who tried to flee were slaughtered at the gates. Those who made it out were being hunted like boars and killed. Those who screamed injustice, their plea fell on deaf ears and was met with the same fate.

Enraged, Thor is cruel and vicious. Like a child. But with so much power at the tip of his fingers, all anyone could do was tremble at the mercy of his rage; praying for Vali to put a stop to this madness, praying for the Thunderer’s wrath to pass.

He had seen the damage Thor’s hurricane had ripped when he passed the roofless store houses, he had seen the death Thor’s hails had wrought when he passed the broken stables and saw the cart piled with dead horses struck down by the ice and seen the monstrous tree that had been torn from ancient roots and hurled halfway across the palace spraying mud and dirt.

And this was only on the palace grounds. He could hardly imagine what it was like beyond the palace walls.

But Thor, so consumed with himself, hardly cared for the destruction he had wrought. He issued charges against sentries that stormed Bilskirnir under Baldur’s command before Loki even finished counting the first chest of jewels.

When Loki said he had not finished counting yet, Thor simply shrugged, commanded that Loki continue counting and went back to digging his graves.

He sees for the first time the consequence of falling from Thor’s favour. He sees for the first time of having the Thunderer turn against you.

If Thor does these to his own people regardless of guilt, what does he do to Jotuns that fall from his grace?

Loki looked at the initials carved on the underside of the ornate ring between his fingers. It was an initial that matches no Jotun he knows. In fact, he had seen thrice more different initials on the jewels he had counted than there are Jotuns in Bilskirnir before the slaughter.

 _“Did he tell you he will protect you too? Did he tell you he will never harm you or raise a hand against you?”_ He wondered, running his thumb over the engravings.

He wondered what happened to them. They did not die in Bilskirnir that was certain. There was no grave or bone or even a shred of evidence (aside from their initials on the jewels Thor had pour on them) that they ever existed in Bilskirnir. But they must have died or worse. There are only so many ends to a Jotun slave.

He wondered how many Jotuns had sat anxiously in Bilskirnir, their ears prick for the creaking of iron gates and clinging of chains; wondering if their Master had turn against them despite his smile and what he was planning to do to them. How would he strip them of honour and tear them down at every side? What false charges would he lay for them?  

It seemed to Loki that Thor cannot bear to appear vengeful; cannot even admit it to himself that he is vengeful. He will create a pretext to kill, to cast out and dishonour, just as he does now.

Who can deny that the sentries had sullied Thor’s hall? Who could deny that the sentries had slaughtered those under Thor’s protection? Who dares point the finger and name the Thunderer a liar and that no jewels were lost from Bilskirnir?

 _“He is not my ally”_ Loki knows one misstep and Thor would turn executioner in a heartbeat despite all his promises of comfort and safety.

The muffled voices at the iron gates are getting louder. There was another crash.

“How can you sit there and watch him runs himself to ruins?!” The bundle curled on the blood stained chaise lounge crooked.

Loki looked over, barely able to hide his disappointment that Njord was very much alive with a fever. The Jotun had escaped, by jumping into the old well and treaded water for two days before Thor found him.

“He does not see this as his ruin” Loki said. “He will tell you this is his rebirth. He will tell you that they ought to fear him”

“If he does not stop, his reputation will be beyond repair” Njord struggled to sit up. “You must go to him tonight and placate him or he will be in ruins! And if he duels with Baldur, he is finished. There is nothing worst a brother can do to a brother on Asgard than to murder him. The Aesirs will not forget or forgive a kin-slayer. This folly will follow him till the end of times” 

“Speak to him yourself” Loki looked back out the window.

Njord’s lips tightened for a moment. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing”

“Are you mad that I live?”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Loki scoffed.

Njord narrowed his eyes. “You are!”

“I am not!” Loki snapped. “If I want you dead, I would have killed you myself”

“Except you dare not!”

“Enough!” Loki slammed his fist on the table.

“Or what? You will kill me?” Njord charged.

Loki hissed. “Do not test me Njord. You will not like what I do”

“And what will you do, Jotun?” A voice cuts before Njord could open his mouth.

At once, Loki and Njord turned, to see a Jotun with bone pale locks and burning translucent scarlet eyes standing at the doorway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... I think i need to clarify that the norse characters in this story are not the ones in norse mythology. Here Narfi is not the son of Loki as in the original norse mythology. The Loki here is also not blood brother to Odin as in the original norse mythology.
> 
> I will try not to use anymore names from norse mythology (aside from what i have already used) if it is too confusing?
> 
> So sorry for the confusion. And so sorry for such a late update.


	8. Fallen Prince

When Loki first saw the pale Jotun, his heart nearly stopped and he must force himself to breath. Those pale burning eyes, and bone white locks. Those narrow nose and high cheekbones. The child he knew might have changed, but there is no mistaking that it is Byleist. The Prince was the image of Farbauti, but his features were softer. And he had Laufey’s nose… like his.

And Byleist was just standing there, looking at him mockingly.

“Struck mute by the sight of your Prince?” The creature mocked “Oh don’t fall over yourself kissing the ground that I walk”

Byleist was not shackled. He has no guards trailing after him. He has no collar on his neck. He was clean, well-fed and dressed as if an Aesir prince with red and gold.

The red shawl draped across his two golden pauldrons swayed, alerting Loki to something very wrong.

 _“_ _His hands…”_   The breath steals from his lungs for several seconds. His heart drummed.

Njord teased the pale Jotun to which the Prince responded with sneers.

A thousand emotions rushed at Loki at once, rendering him witless, tactless

"Leist…?” The words tumbled from his lips unbidden, shocking the Jotun Prince to stillness. And when burning eyes saw the glint of ice jewels that adorned Loki’s wrist, terror crossed Byleist’s face, and then at once unbridled anger.

Ice exploded across the room snuffing the crackling flames in a puff and crumbling the walls. Spikes burst; shattering the table and tossing a thousand little gem into the howling wind.

He could hear Njord’s horrified shouts.

Burning eyes bore at him without mercy, sending ice charging at him a new.

Loki barely move out of the way, slicing his feet. Blood was pounding in his ears. He shouted, sending a burst of flames smashing into the charging ice.

Steam exploded.

There was a tap of feet and at once he saw a flash of red. Before he could move, Byleist smashed his armoured knee hard into Loki’s ribs, throwing him to the hard snowy ground.

Pain sheared.

He gasped.

_Blood. Pain. White._

_The moment he heard a loud crack and felt the snapping of his rib. The pain was white and blinding, bubbling up from the pit of his guts along with vomit and scream. His knees buckled, his shaky hands clutched his side, his blade clattered. His head bowed, saliva smeared his lips. Every gasped of air was agony._

_“Get up Loptr” Their dam growled from where he sat; barely looking up from his documents._ _“On your feet”_

_He lifted his spinning head._

_Pale scarlet eyes looked at him. Those white brows furrowed._

_“He is hurt dam”_

_“Keep going”_

_“Dam!”_

_“They’ve done enough for today, your Majesty” Their trainer said._

_“It is your job to train them” Their dam finally looked up. “And it is mine to know their limits. And I say he is fine. Keep going”_

_“But-”_

_“I am fine” He gasped, reaching for his blade. His knees shook as he stood._

_Pale scarlet eyes stared at him, full of worry then._

_“I can take anything you throw up me Leist” He smiled. “Take up your blade. Keep going”_

He saw a flash of leather boots flying.

Pain exploded.

His head whipped back, cracking against the unforgiving ice. He could taste blood in his mouth. His head rung.

The wind screamed in his ear.

Hard feet stomped down on his chest. Fire sheered, clawing at his chest.

Loki swallowed, reaching to touch Byleist’s feet gently. He did not make to shove it away or escape it.

Snowy hair whipped violently. The ice charms on his wrist glimmered mockingly in the night.

“Who sends you?! The resistance?!” Byleist demanded through the screaming wind and clinging chains.

“Leist…” 

“Do not call me that!” Byleist spat, grounding the runt harder on the ground.

Did this imposter, this thief thinks he would not recognise his sibling’s line? He could be blind and still he would recognise it by touch alone.

Those resistance would do anything to take him back. But to think they would go so far as to endanger…

“Do you know what I do to resistant fools that come for me?” Byleist hissed. “I kill them. I must have killed a hundred. Did they tell you that when they send you to persuade me?”

“Leist please” Loki forced out, the pressure was crushing his chest. “Do you not recognise your sibling? Your betrothed?”

At Loki’s words Byleist could feel himself going cold. Somehow the declaration was infinitely worse than the jewel’s implication.

His heart hammered like a wild thing in his chest. Hammering up to his throat.

“I have no living sibling” He said. This cannot be true. “I am the Third Prince of Jotunheim! The child of Laufey the Murderer and Farbauti the Merciless and sibling of Helblindi the Fool and Loptr the Coward! Of that line of inbred beast, only I live! You are an imposter! A delusional imposter! And a thief! A trick!”

“Byleist!” Loki gasped.

“The resistance dares! They dare! I will expose you!” He stumbled back.

 _"He is not really here. He cannot be here. It is a trick from the resistance. But what if_ …"

What if this is Vali’s test?

He can’t breathe. If this is Vali’s test, then Vali knows… or suspects of his treachery. His lies…

He cannot return to _that_ thing... _That…_ That iron prison that almost drove him mad. The terror of hearing soil piled and clattered over his metal coffin till there was nothing. Darkness that was impenetrable. Silence that was unbearable. A vacuum void of all light, all sound but the screams of his lungs and the pounding of his heart.

" _I can’t breathe_ "

His entire body shook.

“Your Majesty….Your Majesty!” Byleist made to dash into Thor’s hall. Made to dash to Vali.

“Leist no!” Loki scrambled to his feet, grabbing Byleist’s upper arm, almost wrenching the shawl off him.

“Get off me Jotun!” Byleist roared at Loki with so much hatred it shocked Loki, but still he dared not let go. He held on tighter. He was so terrified. So terrified that if he let go Byleist would forever slip from his grasp.

“Leist please!” He gritted in desperation. “In your childhood, who is it that played dolls with you in secret and snuck you out in the night? Who is it to that you so boldly declare could move mountains for you? Would an imposter know these things? Would they?!”

“Yes!” Byleist shouted. “You resistance and your tricks! I’ve seen it all!”

“Leist please! My lines are different but I am he. Loptr. Are you so fickle that you would not recognise your betrothed, your sibling, without his lines?! Look at me!”

Byleist shook his head, refusing to look.

“Look at me Byleist!” Loki bellowed. His fingers so tight they were digging into Byleist’s skin. He cannot lose Byleist now. He cannot bare it. _"_ _Please!"_

“Loptr is not here. You are an imposter” Byleist said suddenly.

“Why?!” Loki demanded. “Why can’t Loptr be here?!”

“Because Loptr is a coward who abandons his family”

Loki’s blood ran cold.

“Loptr is a coward that cared only for the attention of his sire that couldn’t give two shits about him and nothing else” Byleist looked straight at Loki. “Loptr abandoned me to the Aesir. He watched the Aesir take me and did nothing. Loptr would never come for anyone”

Loki opened his mouth, and closed it again. He looked at Byleist as if he were a monster.

“I was a ch-”

“And if you are Loptr then I say to you, how dare you show your face before me now” Byleist’s tone was ice.

“I-”

“What have you done?!” Thor’s voice exploded suddenly.

They turned at once.

Thor was beside himself as he took in his iced and destroyed chamber. Ice cover every inch of the drawing room and the snow was coming in. The floor ruined, the lounge and table destroyed.

Njord stood uncomfortably behind the Aesir Prince and King.

“By? What has happened?” Vali questioned.

“Your Majesty!” Byleist wrenched his arms out of Loki’s finger.

 _"No!"_ Loki almost screamed it. Cold terror running down his spine, but there was nothing he could do.

Byleist stepped back from Loki, his lips curling, his hair whipped in the wind. His lovely features twisted into an ugly sneer.

“Do you know what this louse said to me?” Byleist demanded.

“What?” Vali asked patiently.

“I say to you, if you ever love me you will deliver me his wretched tongue!”

“What did he say?” 

Byleist scoffed, turning to Loki who stood so still he could have been made of marble. For a moment, something akin to anger flashed across Loki’s face, and then just as fast, his features turned stoic, betraying nothing.

“What did he say?” Vali asked again.

“He curses me” Byleist turned to Vali. “He curses me that my womb be barren and my nursery be filled with ghosts. That all that I have, shall be taken from me one by one. That my legs shall fester and my skin shall rot. That disease shall eat at my insides and maggots my eyes! And that in the end, my womb shall fashion a monster to tear me open from the inside and I will know it! I will feel it as its claws scrapped my inside! And at my end, I will know I deserve it all and more!” Byleist shouted his last words.

For a heartbeat no one spoke.

Loki remained unmoving, his features betraying nothing.

Then Vali said. “That’s a lie”

Byleist stilled.

Vali was not smiling.

Byleist cannot breathe. He cannot speak, he cannot insist the truth of his words, he cannot even beg because he cannot breathe.

“Shall we try the answer to my question again, but this time without the theatrics?” Vali looks at Byleist’s pale face.

“Your majesty” Loki opened his mouth.

“You are so very clever aren’t you Loki?” Vali cuts. “So familiar with the horrors of Jotunheim? Tell me, what happens to the liars of Jotunheim?”

“I don’t know”

“Guess!” He barked

“Brother!” Thor snapped, glaring at Vali. “I-”  

“I think will leave now” Vali cuts. "I know when i've overstayed my welcome"

Thor said nothing.

Vali tossed Loki a cold glance and started toward the gate. Byleist followed. Silver bells tinkled.

Loki does not remember it, but he must have attempted to follow Byleist, because the next thing he knew, Thor had grabbed his arm and was looking at him with a frown. The iron gates clang shut.

Vali turned back. Sapphire meets crimson for a moment. Golden hair whipped in the wind. His face hard and cruel.

Loki felt a crackle of seid on his neck, his entire breathe hitched. Terror flooded him, suffocated him. His ears rang. His entire body frozen, breaking out in cold sweat at the intensity of Vali’s gaze.

 _“Stop it”_ Loki thought in desperation.

His guts twisted. He stumbled. Tremor wrecked him.

_"Stop it!"_

He is drowning.

“Loki!”

Thor moved in front of Loki, blocking him from Vali.

Loki looked up.

Thor took Loki’s features in his hands with a tenderness that seemed so at odd with his strength.

A noise rose from Loki’s throat. His eyes wide.

“Breathe” Thor whispered.

And just like that every knot untangled. Fear dissipated. He gasped, drawing breathe.

“Breathe”

Loki nodded, his shaky fingers touched his warm collar.

 

* * *

 

_His dam was the first to give him a puzzle box. When he received it for his birthday, he had thought it cruel. When Byleist was out playing with his new sword, he was stuck with the wretched box that simply refuses to open no matter how he twist, slide the wood and turn the damn thing. He tried bashing it against the wall. He tried to convince Helblindi to help him. He tried screaming at his dam over it. And he even went to his dam’s mate - Farbauti, for help. Something that took a whole lot of guts. Farbauti his not-sire was a terrifying figure._

_“It is not for me to solve” Farbauti said unhelpfully._

_He snapped. He screamed that it wasn’t fair that Byleist and Helblindi were given swords and jewels on their birthday and he was given a wretched box. He accused Farbauti in his fury that they were there to torment him. That Farbauti and his dam did not care for him because he was a bastard and a runt. That his real sire would have given him a sword. He blamed Farbauti for his sire being leagues away. He accused Farbauti for being the reason his sire did not care to show up. He blamed Farbauti for everything._

_When he was done with his tantrum, huffing and puffing Farbauti took a step forth._

_He flinched, but refused to run._

_He bit his lower lips, realising that he has no memory of Helblindi or even darling Byleist ever dared scream at Farbauti – their sire, as he just did._

_When Farbauti knelt down, he tensed._

_He expected to be spank for his disrespect but instead Farbauti gently took the wooden box from him._

_He sniffed._

_“_ _Aren’t I supposed to protect Byleist? Wouldn’t a sword be a better gift?” He tried to negotiate._

_“Your dam put in a lot of effort into this. He thought it would serve you well” Farbauti looked him in the eye. “Your sire would have given you a sword. That is true. But that is because he does not know where your true strength lies”_

_“I am good with the sword”_

_“You are decent with the sword, but your greatest weapon is your mind did you know”_

_“But-”_

_“No Loptr. Denial of the truth will only lead to disaster. You must accept that you cannot surpass a full grown Jotun in brute strength however much you train or grow. Your gift is of the mind. You are more cunning than anyone I know. But the mind is like any other muscle. You need to train them or you will lose them” Farbauti returned the wooden box to him. “When you are angry, you have no restrain. Your emotions make you hasty and reckless. Control them, don’t let them control you. If need be, block them out. Discard them. Think of it when you are calm and you will figure it out”_

_He frowned._

_“If you truly want to protect Byleist then you will break the puzzle” Farbauti tells him._

_And so he sat with the puzzle box for months. Thinking of it. Staring at it. Dreaming of it. He was solving them in at the back of his mind when he trained, when he ate, when he showered, and when he studied._

_When frustration started to bubble, he took them captive as best as he could. He shouted at his dam again that it was a stupid present and that he hated it. This time Farbauti pulled him aside and spank him for his troubles._

_He would have spit at Farbauti that Farbauti have no right to touch him because Farbauti was not his sire if he dared… he didn’t._

_He continued turning the puzzle in his mind eye. Twisting and turning, slotting one block over another until he could see the answer. When he opened it, the most beautiful little ice falcon fell out._

_I_ _t would shimmer in the dim light of the candle as if diamonds and when the mild sun touches, it would glimmer with all the colours of the rainbow. Even Byleist was jealous when he saw the little falcon, but dared not demand one from Farbauti. Farbauti isn’t someone to go around demanding things from._

_He often wondered how long it took Farbauti to make the falcon for him. And he knew it was Farbauti who made it. Only Farbauti have such mastery of ice seid that he could fracture the ice from within at such precise angles to create the illusion of a diamond._

_He could have sworn he saw Farbauti smile when Farbauti saw the little falcon._

_He got better and better at solving puzzles with less outburst until he could break one within the hour or he could stare at one for years without bashing it against the wall._

_He may have lost the sculpture in the war, but the gift of his mind, his mastery over his emotions, and Farbauti’s words, those he kept always…or he tried…._

_“Don’t be reckless. Don’t be hasty. You will have your chance”_ Loki told himself for the unkempt time. He paced what’s left of Bilskinir’s kitchen because pacing helps.

He was still shaking from earlier, his mind still racing. The collar’s seid had been tamed, but it had struck him to the very core. The wall he had built to protect himself is crumbling. Fear seeping through the cracks.

What if he never escapes? What if he could not convince Byleist to escape with him? Will he never return to Jotunheim? Will he never feel the winter wind upon his skin once more? Will he never breathe the cold in his lungs once more? Is he doomed to kneel and crawl, eating dust for all of his days?

_“Calm down. Breathe. Breathe. You just need to make him understand"_

He could not forget the terror in Byleist when Vali called him out his lies, the raw hatred and anger in Byleist voice when Byleist thought he was a trick from the resistance, Vali’s hard gaze looking at him with such intensity it would devour him, but most of all, he could not forget Byleist’s cold accusation – that he betrayed them all.

That he left them all to die.

At once, the sentimental part of him screamed its denial, – that Byleist did not mean what he said. That he must know the Aesirs were close, and the lie Byleist must have told a thousand times to survive had simply spilled from his lips; for how could Byleist fault him, when he had lived for him. When he knelt, crawled and kissed the feet of Aesir scums for him. When he had let these monsters break his body, defile him, beat him and spit on him all to get to him.

His anger rose like a snake. He shuts them out at once, shoved them down.

 _“Don’t let them control you…”_ He tightened his jaws, taking a deep breathe.

Muddled thoughts fuelled by sentiments blinds the truth, and leads only to disaster. He must accept that Byleist meant them – that Byleist rejects him, that Byleist sees him a murderer, a coward and a traitor.

_“I did what I had to do. I had no choice”_

He turned to see Thor standing at the threshold of the shadowy kitchen. The wind blew, rattling against the window.

“Your Grace” Loki smiled; a mask slipping into place. “Trouble sleeping?” He teased because that is easy to do.

What would the Aesirs have of him? What would the Jotuns, the Vanirs, the whole damn world have of him?

A thousand roles he had played. A seductress, a sadist, a ravenous gladiator, a slave, a protector, a fighter, a killer, a trickster, a traitor, a spider, a companion, a lover…

Roles are easy. Because he is all and none. Because when he plays a face, everything beyond that moment ceases to exist. He is not a child with murdered parents, he is not a Jotun with conquered lands, an enslaved race of beast; he is not a Prince without a realm, he is not coward who stood by and lets his family die. He is whatever he wishes to be in that moment, and it clears his mind. It makes it easier to think. It makes it easier to breathe.

Loki moved over with a mischievous smile.

Thor has still yet to say a word or even move. Moonlight glimmered in his sapphire eyes.

“Shall I ease you to bed your Grace?” Loki’s fingers brushes Thor’s arm.

“Do you want to?” Thor sounded tired.

“Of course your Grace. It is my duty serve you”

“Loki, what do you take me for?”

“My master of course” He said.

Thor looked as if he expected no better.

“I wish you would trust me” Thor said, like a broken record. “I wish you would trust me enough to know you can bring your petition to me, and I will not harm you.  I wish you would trust me enough to know you can speak to me and I will not forsake you”

“I do trust you. But there is nothing to say. I lost my temper when I saw what the Jotun prince had become. He disgust me”

Thor gave him a tight smile. “I will speak to Vali about Byleist”

Loki stilled. “What about?”

“About mercy perhaps. Leniency” Thor thought of saying ‘perhaps punishment’ just to see Loki pale and leave it at that. And Loki would deserve it. Deserve to sit trembling, not knowing if he had just damned his Prince to more pain or if he had found a saviour in Thor. He should do it. He…

“Why would you?” Loki dared to ask.

Anger flashed.

“Because I am not blind” Thor snapped irritably. “Because despite all your claims that you hate the monarch of Jotunheim, Byleist seems important to you”

Loki said nothing.

Thor continued, taking a step forth, towering over Loki. “Loki lie-smith, I should make you watch him punished. I should make you punish him with your own hands. That’s what my brother would do”

“But you are not him” Loki said evenly.

“I can be”

 

* * *

 

Aesir seid burned, like a thousand biting mouth, he surged and bit setting his every nerve ending on fire, wrenching, tearing.

Thrym gasped, his teeth clenched as he ripped the last iota of seid from the blood stained collar.

It was a pity that had to hack off the head of those Jotun slaves for the collar to be removed. But what needs to be done needs to be done. In the end, they had a chance to be part of something bigger than themselves. They should be honoured.

The collar hummed its last glow and the runes was no more.

Thrym’s fingers were shaking, they were bleeding. Dark ruptured veins covered his peeling arm as if he were poisoned, as if his arms were rotting and in many sense, it was. His seid was poisoned, his flesh burning from the inside out. If he were not a fire Jotun, the Aesir’s runes would have burned his arm off and killed him the moment he touched them.

He looked quickly over his shoulders to see that no one had heard his pain or if they did, they had not rushed in to his aide. It was good that way. He would never let his men see him injure, least they tear him down and kill him.

He hears them whisper when they thought he could not hear them.

They do not believe in his cause. They had lost faith that Byleist would save them all. They think to just leave Byleist. They think they are wasting their time entertaining the idea of a relic that has lost his head, blinded by loyalty to the dead King. They think to ambush the royal entourage, take the Aesir King hostage and ransom his head for the casket of ancient winter.

It is up to Ulf, his second in command to silence them. To remind them they have not the number to take out the soldiers that would no doubt travel with the royal entourage. And the Odinsons… they are slayers of giants. Their Jotun heads would look mighty fine mounted on walls of the Aesir's feasting halls.

 _"At least they are still whispering"_   Thrym thinks. They still fear him enough to stay their blade. But how long would it last? How long would those loyal to him stay loyal before their mind starts to wander too?

He curled his numbed fingers. His seid tingled, cerulean spread up his arms covering his dead flesh.

The little disfigured ice wolverine on his wrist glint. It had been silent for decades that Thrym had thought his spider dead or compromised. So he had simply adjusted his plan to exclude the spider in the equation. But mere weeks ago, Thrym had felt a spark of seid in the night. He had smiled then. It just made things a little easier, or so he hoped.

Thrym stood to his feet and move to the entrance of his tent. He pushed the skin aside and stepped out into the night.

Thousands upon thousands of stars glittered overhead his camps as snow fell. The tip of the mountain by the forest was covered in white, but it was nowhere as beautiful or impressive as the mountains of Jotunheim. And the trees, they were dry, their branches spread out above them like bony fingers.

He closed his eyes, and he could just see for a moment, leaves of gold and red covering an ornate courtyard. Hear the innocent voices of children and the senseless talks of servants. A familiar face smiling at him, another scowling at him.

A smile threaten to touch his lips, he opened his eyes to grey darkness and a winter without beauty.

He went over to Ulf, leaning by the tree and threw him the collar.

Ulf caught it easily. He dangled the leather in front of him, as if it were roadkill. He sneered, his lips curling.

“Yours…” Thrym rasped.

His voice barely able to carry the distance. He cleared his throat, his fingers touch the scar across his throat and grimace. He hated that he could barely make himself heard let alone command an entire army.

Damn the Aesirs to Hel!

“These Aesirs think us animals” Ulf said.

“No doubt…. Does all our men have their collar…?”

“Aye” Ulf confirmed. “And the words in the village is that the royal entourage will be moving soon”

“Then it is time we move too…”

“Music to my ears”

 

* * *

 

Loki looked down upon the snowy yard. While Thor’s Jotuns had all scrubbed down and changed into similar tunics, it was not hard to tell which Jotun fighters were fresh from a slaver and which were former warriors from the wall. The fresh ones were larger and more incline to entertain Byleist's tease. The former warriors were thinner, harder, their eyes colder and harsher as they hung around the edge of the yard looking on at their Prince with bitter disgust.

The fresh ones also tended to keep their hair neat, tied in a braid or cut short while the former warriors shaved them off completely.

“Byleist helped me with those gladiators” Thor said.

“I hope he chose them for their skills and not their looks. He seems taken by them”

“He is at that age where he is beginning to explore. At least he would be if he were Aesir. Are Jotuns so very different?”

“Nei. But we age slower”

There was a game going on. They tied a piece of cloth on Byleist’s belt and the aim was to catch it.

Byleist was shouting with excitement, darting back and forth, jumping over rubbles as he was chased. It was incredible to see Byleist playing as if the incident at Bilskirnir had not happened. As if he had not a care in the world. As if he were not living in fear. As if he were not at the mercy of his tormentor. At the mercy of monsters who could kill him at the snap of the finger.

“He laughs so freely…” Loki heard himself saying.

“He always does” Thor stood beside him.

Loki turned, to see Thor looking at the scene below. His hair was almost golden beneath the red setting sun. His eyes vacant.

The words in the wind was that wergild had been paid and all was forgotten. That the Thunderer’s pride was a cheap thing. Two dozen Jotuns was all it cost. A Jotun lover they called him and was quickly replaced by something much worse by the end of the day.

Thor’s fascination for Jotuns was perplexing. He would butcher his brother over them and he would toss his honour for them.

 _“Ergi”_ It started with a daring whisper that blanched all colours from the faces those who heard it. They shush fool at once. But words thrown out could not be swallowed again. It had been spoken and it will linger. It will fester.

_Ergi…_

_The Golden Prince._

_The Ergi Prince._

By noon, the Lords, the Ladies, the Guards, the Servants, they whisper them in each other’s ears. Their eyes wide with wicked excitement and fear when they speak it. When they let the words roll over their tongue. And then ponder it in their perverse mind.

 _Oh how do you suppose…_ A blushing Lady had started. And her words too were caught in the wind and spread.

There were a hundred little filthy stories of how the Thunderer could have managed it by the evening; one cruder than the next. It was a slight far worse than what Baldur had done. And yet, Thor had not ranted once all day. He seemed content to simply allow Byleist to tease his new Jotuns so that Loki could see Byleist unharmed and know that he had kept his words.

Only the unceasing rumbling of clouds betrayed the Aesir prince.

 _"What fool deal had you struck?"_ Loki wondered.

Loki watched Byleist for a moment longer. Slowly, he turned to Thor, lifted his fingers to touch Thor's face.

Thor looked down unsmiling. “I’ve pleased you at last it seems” 

“You’ve pleased me” Loki confirms; his fingers tightened over Thor’s sun kissed hair.

Thor winched, but did not protest. So Loki took a step forth, till they were a hairsbreadth apart.

“When you know your worth, no one and nothing can make you feel worthless…” Loki whispered.

“Those are some words from a Jotun street rat and a slave” Thor raised his hand and laid it on Loki’s shoulder, his thumb brushed Loki’s collar. “Tell me, what is the worth of a rat?”

“This Jotun rat?” Loki bends forth, his teeth caught Thor’s lower lip. “More than an Aesir prince”

Loki tugged Thor’s hair, earning a hissed.

Loki pressed their lips together.

Thor growled, shoving Loki back till Loki could feel the hard stone digging into his tunic and into his flesh.

There was nothing gentle in their kiss.

Loki wondered if Thor would dominate him this time. Would demand that he drop to his knees and take him in his mouth. Demand that he crawl till his skin was scraped open. Demand that he spread for him, and flog him till he bleed, till he had screamed himself hoarse.

Certainly it would parade to the world who was the Master and who was the slave.

That an Ergi, the Aesir prince is not.

Loki bit Thor which Thor returned in kind.

They devoured each other with their kisses. Their tongues, their breath mingled.

Loki groaned, he could taste blood on his tongue. Thor’s bruising fingers digging into his hips.

Suddenly, Thor stopped.

“Enough” He turned his head away.

Loki didn’t stop. He kisses Thor’s neck, bit down with a bite so vicious it drew blood.

At once, Thor shoved him back, hard.

“I said enough!” Thor growled, his eyes a blazed. Thunder shrieked. 

Loki swallowed. He raised a hand to wipe the blood off his lips.

Crimson meets sapphire.

“You never told me your safe word” Loki whispered.

“Would you even stop if you knew? You would break my bones if I let you” 

“That is not true”

“Isn’t it?” Thor challenged.

“I would stop” Loki said, there was a hardness in his voice.

Thor merely looked at him, as if he did not believe it. Loki did not like that look. Of all the looks his many Masters had given him, this one stood out because of the insinuation, the accusation and he hated it. It rankles at him. Just as Njord’s accusation that he would brutalise Thor if Njord had not stopped him had rankled him.

_“I am not a rapist”_

He nodded to Thor’s neck. The bite was red and bloody.

“I’ll get that cleaned up” He said.

Thor did not din him a reply. Loki left to collect some alcohol and clean cloth.

Thor was staring off at the yard below when Loki returned. He let Loki clean him, his jaws tight.

The clouds darkened even more, lightning starting to flash as Loki dabbed his wound.

“Does it hurt?” Loki asked uncertainly.

“No” He slapped Loki’s hand away; he might as well have slapped Loki in the face.

Loki took in a deep breath. “Is there anything else you require from me?”

“Can you unwind time?”

“No”

“Then no” Thor snipped.

Loki stared at the darkening wound on Thor’s neck. It would still be red tomorrow when they leave. It would take a week at least to heal and Thor’s armour does not reach high enough to hide it.

Seid tingled at the tip of his fingers. The moment he touched the wound, Thor turned, glaring at him.

“The illusion will hide it” Loki tells him. When his fingers left Thor’s skin, the wound had vanished.  

Thor touched the side of his neck where it throbbed, but not even he could feel the scabs. No matter how he touched it, it was smooth. His skin unbroken.

He had seen a thousand illusions cast with the intention to entertain or disguise, but they all disintegrate with a simple touch. He does not know much of seid or illusions, but what he does know, is that Loki’s illusion is beyond elementary. Illusions that stayed even when touched. Illusions that alters the senses of the mind.

 _“Who are you really?”_ Thor looked at Loki intently.

“I will remove the illusion and clean it for you until it is healed if you would allow it” Loki said.

“Why?”

Why do you care about Byleist when all the Jotuns who saw what he has become was disgusted by him? Why would you lie for him? And why would he lie for you when he has betrayed countless Jotuns to their death?

“Would you rather your Aesirs see you marked?” Loki asked.

"Loki”

“Hm?”

“My brother hates Laufey’s loyalist” Thor studied Loki’s eyes. “Are you one of them?”

“No”

“Will you admit it to me if you are?”

Loki smiled, amused. “Of course not”

“My brother has a way of finding out the truth. He would throw Jotuns in iron coffins and bury them in the ground if that is what it takes. Though sometimes he forgets and they die”

“Are you going to try it?”

“You will tell me the truth then”

“I am sure I will confess a good many things” Loki said lightly. “By the end of the first week, I will be the child of a loyalist. By the second week, I will be a loyalist. And by the third, I will confess to be royal myself and you can crucify me before your people and watch me die”

“It is not funny”

"No” Loki agreed.

Thor touched his neck again, his wounds had started to itched.

“My brother is becoming suspicious of you” Thor said.

“That I am Laufey’s loyalist?”

“That you are something”

“Oh?”

“For Byleist to speak falsehood to my brother because of you, _that_ is something”

"Perhaps he just wants a runt's tongue to dine. We are so rare some believe our tongues are magical"

"He need not lie for it. He need only ask and my brother will see to it that a runt's tongue be delivered to him on a platter. Prepared in any fashion he could wished" Thor scratched his neck.

Loki smacked his hand away.

“Ouch” Thor said drily.

Thor’s mood did not let out all evening and even when they lay next to each other in the night, Thor was mostly quiet.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Thor’s thumb stroked Loki shoulder, his eyes barely open.

“Sleep your grace” Loki whispered. “You have a long ride ahead of you. Or do you want to fall off your horse”

“What difference does it make…?” Thor murmured. “Are they not already laughing at me?”

“Who is laughing?” Loki demanded mockingly. “Show them to me and I will stifle them for good”

Thor did not even crack a smile.

Loki heaved a sigh, reaching to touch Thor’s face. He is tired too, exhausted.

“Your Grace”

“Um?” Thor was almost asleep.

“I mean what I said earlier. If you know your own worth, nothing and no one can make you feel worthless”

“Is that what you learn on the street…?” Thor yawned.

“That is what any Jotun learn on Jotunheim…” Loki tells him. “Our worth is the same, yesterday as it is today, and nothing and no one can diminish them, or take them away…”

Thor smiled at last, sleepily. “Finally I’ve managed to wring a smidgen of truth from you…” 


	9. Freedom of Choice

At last, a pale ray of light pierced the drawn curtains. Thor’s thumb caresses his shoulder lazily. The fire had died in the night, leaving grey ashes in its wakes.

Loki had watched Thor slumber through the night. Watch his breath come in mist and the way he would shrug, roll and kicked off his fur blanket. More than once, Loki had to pull the blanket over Thor again, lest he caught a chill.

Without the fire, it was near freezing by Aesir standard. He debated over starting the fire. But Thor was comfortable enough.

“Did you rest at all?” Thor yawned

“I rest enough”

“That’s good” He stretched. His bones creaked.

Loki sat up. The furs beneath him brushed his legs.

“Lay for a while” Thor said.

“I should get you breakfast. You should be leaving soon. You cannot keep the King waiting”

“He is my brother. I know him. He will not mind”

“Your brother in private. He is King first and foremost” Loki reminded him. “A King cannot be made to wait. Pride is everything to a King”

Loki made to get off when Thor’s fingers caught his arm.

“Your Grace, you mu-”

“You would suit the court better than me” Thor said.

“A Jotun in an Aesir court?” Loki teased. “I am afraid your Lords would keel over in shock. They would take up arms against you”

“I do not doubt. But you are not understanding”

“What is it I am not understanding?”

“You speak and act as if you were bred in court. If I have a fraction of your wit-”

Loki barks a laugh. “Then you Aesirs must have one of the most savage court of any realm”

Loki slipped out of Thor’s gentle grip and off the bed. His heart thumped.

Hadn’t Njord mentioned something of the sort too? Why now? How had he acted differently from before?

None of his previous Masters or handlers had ever mentioned anything of the sort…then again, those Aesirs did not grow up in a royal court. Had never even stepped foot in one either. They wouldn’t know courtly mannerism if it were paraded in front to them. Dismissing his oddities as arrogance that need to be beaten out.

But Thor is different. He must be careful.

He flipped the goblet on its stand. “Water your Grace?”

He lifted the cool pitcher.

Thor flung the blanket off him and slipped out of bed.

Loki poured the water into the olive cup.

Thor stood beside Loki, naked.

Loki could feel Thor’s gaze on him. Tracing over the lines of his face and his skin.  _"You won’t find anything"_

Warm fingers brushed across a line on his back. Shiver inched down his spine.

Loki cleared his throat. He looked over at Thor. 

“Here” He lifted the cup.

“It must hurt. The scars” Thor murmured.

“I don’t remember”

“It should never have been done to you”

“What is done is done. And now it will not be done to the next generation. They are grateful and so am I”

 _“You are not. You do not think so”_ Thor took the cup. It was a lie every breathing Jotun born before the fall of Jotunheim would say.

He has no illusion. Loki, like Njord, Carr, Skadi…his older Jotuns (when they live), this was the one thing they could not accept. He sees it in their eyes. Their grief, their regret, when the younger Jotuns run around unblemished and oblivious to the lines of the generation before them.

He could not understand it.

Yes, the lines spoke of a Jotun’s linage. But it also carved one’s status onto the flesh and set their role in society in stone. A Jotun cannot move or mate beyond their caste. It was how those on top stayed on top. It was disgusting.

Vali outlawed it since the end of the war. No child born after the war could be scarred. The punishment for ritual scarring is death. And so many Jotuns have died for it.

So entrenched in their practice, they could not see a better future for their offspring. Could not understand that without these caste, these social construct fashioned by their tyrant to keep them in line, their children will have a better future. They could climb as high as their ability would take them. They did not need to be trapped in the hierarchy they were born into. 

If only he could make them understand.

Somehow.  

Vali could not help them if they refused to be helped.

How many of his own Jotuns had he executed for daring to defy?

Scarring themselves, Thor could pretend not to notice. But scarring a new born child, it left Thor with no choice. New born were not born with scars.

And the King’s laws are not suggestions.

“What is it?” Loki asked.

Thor shook his head. He was about to take a sip when the door burst open.

“Rise and shine!” Fandral beamed, in his new armour and navy cloak. He smirked when he saw Thor naked. “I hope you haven’t been too busy last night”

“Oh shut up” Thor laughed. 

“Just imagine the rumours the warriors would come up with if they knew where you were last night”

It was a joke, a tease. But it was the wrong thing to say.

Loki saw for a split of the second a shift in Thor’s expression. A moment where his mirth falter, a flicker of fear and Thor was roaring in laughter again.

Thor dashed to the door. Fandral winked and slammed the door shut before Thor could reached him. Thor’s humour vanished the moment they were alone.

Loki watched Thor intently, saying nothing. Yet he could kill Fandral just then. Thor cared what his people thought of him, despite all that he acted otherwise. Did Fandral not know? Or was it on purpose?

“I need to get ready” Thor muttered. “Fetch my clothes”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fortress was built over a natural hot spring that smoked day and night, covering the courtyard in a mist of chocking steam. But he supposed that was what the Aesirs like. Scorching warmth. It was a prime estate he was assured. It had taken them a long while to gather enough gold to purchase it, but it was done.

Thrym stood close to the wide open window. The winter breeze caresses his burning skin like a balm.

The master bedroom was expansive, with a large four poster bed hung with heavy draperies of red and gold. There was a polished mahogany desk with chairs to match. Stuffy chaise lounge with too much floral embroidery in his opinion and an ivory dresser in the corner.

There was too much in the room. The Aesirs tended to have too much furniture cramped into their chambers he thinks. Too much gold. Too much red. Too much colours. Marble floor, carpeted floor, tile floor, stone floor and panelled ones. Then there were stone walls, wooden walls and brick walls– albeit in different chambers. But still… An interior disaster was what he called them.

Ulf was looking through the open chest sitting at the side of the bed. It was cramped with mismatch of tunics, boots, dresses, jewelries, belts, swords, doublet and cape from their months of raiding. Thrym refused to think that the once proud warriors of Jotunheim had been reduced to road robbers, looting and murdering unfortunate merchants. They were just a step away from being grave robbers if the Aesir had buried their dead instead of burning them.

“My Lord?” Ulf turned around with a silken gown of gold and white. A mischievous grin on his lips.

“No” Thrym rasped.

“I think a dainty little morsel would be quite appealing to the governor”

“I want him to respect me, not mount me” Thrym growled, shifting away from the window.

Ulf chuckled.

It did not bother Thrym to take a female physic. He just did not think in a patriarchal society, a governor would give a female so high an ‘honour’ as to host the royal entourage; however impressive her home, however much bribe she could give. He was not taking chances.

“What of that one?” Thrym pointed to a velvet doublet.

Ulf picked it up and gave it a mighty shake. Dust swirled. Ulf coughed.

It was a black doublet with gold trimming. It was plain and simple, just as Thrym liked it. He wasn’t a damn bird.

Ulf looked up. “Do you want to try it on?”

“Later” Thrym dislike being in Aesir form. It was strange and disorienting. His sense of touch, smell, taste and hearing were dulled, and the vivid colours that assaults his eyes were jarring. It made him sick to his belly and made his head hurts.

He sat on the bed. Not his bed. He sleeps where his soldiers sleep and eats when they eat. He was no Aesir General that sees themselves above their warriors.

The huffed and puffed of steam in the courtyard was unsettling. Like the sigh of air escaping punctured lungs.

He looked out the window, upon the too bright foreign sky and longed for grey stormy ones. Longed for true winter wind to touch his sweltering flesh and the bone deep chill that stirs him.

When he thinks of Jotunheim, it was a courtyard that he sees. A smiling face, a scornful one. Trees of red with ivory barks. And the laughter of children and the chime of bells in the wind.

“We will return to Jotunheim soon” Ulf said.

“Aye…” Thrym rasped. _"_ _But to what?_ " 

The common people cared not for prophecies or promised prince or which King sits on the throne of ice and steal as long as they were left in peace. Taking Byleist back will not take back Jotunheim. Anyone who thought otherwise was either a fool or they were fooling themselves.

His visions, his dreams, they are dead. The smiling face of his lover would never greet him. Not even the scornful ones of his lover’s mate. There is no courtyard, no trees with ivory trunks. There is not laughing children and no tinkle of bells in the wind.

He knows this. He does…

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was too much to hope that they would never be caught. The first three times they stole, it was in desperation. They were starved, shaking from it. Whatever higher Gods that were looking down must take pity on them and shielded them from their enemies – the farmers and tavern owners they were stealing from. Then when they picked off one or two cattle out of the hundreds, it was only natural that they were not caught. By the time the farmers even realised they were a few short of the entire lot (if they ever found out) the entourage was long gone.

And who dared accused the royal entourage of theft. Quite a number no doubt.

Warriors were little better than robbers and murderers after all when they are deep in their cups, wild and piss. Commoners have little love for warriors in time of peace. Warriors hardened by wars were a nuisance. Everything was a test of strength or a slight to their manhood. Cruel and destructive, they live in the perpetual wars of their minds. They never left the battle field of Jotunheim.

Loki uses the warrior’s reputation to cover their tracks. Looting storehouses could easily be misdirected towards the drunken warriors.

It was when they started passing smaller villages that was the problem. The main bulk of the warriors were commanded to set camp on the outskirt. There was no room for them inside. It was difficult to throw blame when there was no one to blame.

It was luck that they managed to get away twice more.

He could hear the muffled chatters of the crammed market over their heads and hear the rhythmic booms of drums. Peals of laughter and roars mashed, dashing any coherent words.

Njord coughed and sniffled, shackles clinked.

Loki looked over at the large hunched form pressed beside him. The cell was cramped, greasy, and stank of piss and shit.

In the darkness, were a pair of accusing red eyes.

“What?” Loki snapped.

“We should have asked” Njord said.

“Ask who? The guards? The soldiers?” Loki snorted. “They’d humiliate us before giving us a lick of their scrape, and you know it. Or you would not have helped”

“His Grace. We should have ask his Grace”

“Thor? Have you seen him around?” Loki could laugh.

Thor had ignored them completely as they travelled and spent his days in the company of his brothers, warriors, friends and little Lords and Ladies. He would race his horses, hunt, brawl, train and joust. Come evening, he would feast in the halls of great Lords and chiefs, watch women dance and sing and when he was pissed, he drag one wench or another into his chamber and fuck them.

He drank when he wakes. Drank at his hunts and feasts.

He heard Thor was so drunk, he fell into a lake and almost drown. He heard that Thor were missing the council meetings he was supposed to attend now that he was of age. He also heard that he had a shouting match with one of the ministers in one of said meetings. He heard that Thor nearly killed the of the Lord’s son in a brawl after the drunken man had asked Thor how he liked his Jotun taking him up the arse. He heard Thor took off his clothes and fell into a stack of hay thinking it were his chamber.

He hears a thousand and one tales of Thor’s mishaps. Or so the tale always goes. Either someone was deliberately spreading nasty tales to undermine Thor’s reputation or Thor was truly just a pitiful thing.

Loki wouldn’t know. He had not spoken to Thor.

His Jotuns had no place in these parts of his life. With more little Lords and warriors to prove his manhood to, his Jotuns did not exist pass the point of pitting and dying in the pits for him. What a proper Aesir he was proving to be. A Jotun lover he is not.

Thor did not even call on Loki to clean his wounds.

Loki hoped it was festering now. Loki hoped Thor burned from it, he hoped it itched and tears at him.

Njord stomach growled in hunger. He pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“He will come around” Njord defended.

 _“_ Enough with your charade! No one is going to report you! _”_ Loki snapped. “I am surprise some of us have not killed you and have you for dinner”

“It is not a charade”

“Do as you please. It does you no favour” Loki huffed.

He shifted uncomfortably. His side pressed against Njord was getting sticky, sweaty and uncomfortable. There was a sharp stone digging into his back and he could not even straighten his leg all the way without kicking the door.

He could feel Njord shivering beside him and his skin was burning.

Njord fever was getting worse. he had been hacking his lungs out as they lay curl up beneath the night sky. His cough was worst when he lay down. The lack of food and water did not help. His skin was pale and deadly sick. Thor with his new found friends and adventures did not notice.

 _“He has to pretend he does not see”_ Njord would defend. _“He is the Prince. He cannot have the realm make mockery of him. See, they’ve stopped calling him a Jotun lover no?”_

Njord spins excuses after excuses as quickly as a spider spins its web.

 _“Are you truly blind to all that he is?”_ Loki wondered. He closed his eyes to rest.

The singing and laughter dwindled as the hours lulled, replaced by screaming booming wind. Njord continued coughing, jolting Loki awake again and again. The stone cuts into Loki’s side. Drifting between sleep and waking his head ached.

It was dawn when the rusted lock screeched.

Njord and Loki groaned.

First crank of the stubborn door, light spilled.

Loki flinched. His hands shielded his eyes.

Njord whimpered.

There was a tsked.

Loki struggled to open his eyes, to make out the dark silhouette against the light. There were two of them.

“And what do you have to say now?” A familiar voice asked.

Loki touched the side of his greasy stone cell. He pushed himself to his numb feet. His bone creaked. He blinked once, then twice. The figures, Vali and Thor came into focus.

Vali did not look please, but it was Thor who caught his attention.

He had not seen Thor up close since they left the palace. Thor looked exhausted, pale and his eyes were watery and blood-shot. His doublet was crumbled and stained. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. He reeked of mead and perfume but seemed sober. His hair was a mess as if he had just woken from a restless sleep or perhaps he had not gone to bed at all. 

“It is a lie” Thor rasped. “They would not steal”

“And how would you know what they have or have not done. Were they at the bottom of your cup?!”

Thor flushed.

Vali turned to Thor. His breath came in mist. “You have acted poorly on this trip Thor. Must your charge suffer you too? And starve for it? Did you even remember to arrange anything for them at all? Must I be their keeper too as I was your Jotun’s keeper when they were in your hall?”

Thor said nothing. His eyes were cast to the side, his jaws tight.

Vali sighed. He glanced at Loki.

Sapphire meets scarlet.  

Loki stiffened. For a moment he forgot to breathe; his finger reached for his collar. Gripping so tightly his knuckles paled, as if stilling for its burn; for that drowning, suffocating fear to chock him.

 _“_ _Do it”_ Loki almost hissed.

“You must see me a monster” Vali said sadly. “I do not take joy in your fear”

Loki almost flinched when Vali’s fingers traced his collar.

“I am merciful. I am understanding”

“A rare trait for a King” Loki said quietly.

Vali narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “I did not mean to frighten you. I never meant to hurt you”

 _“Is that what you say to Byleist every time you hurt him? Violate him? Terrify him? Masking cruelty for love”_ Vali’s tenderness was poison.

Loki had seen it countless times on their travel. He had seen Byleist red puffy eyes and trembling lips, and always it was quickly followed by Vali’s kindness. The sweet little things he would whisper, that made Byleist smile. The tenderness in his tone, his touch that draws Byleist to him like a moth to a candle. Vali was his tower of refuge. His solace. His knight in shining armour in his world of cruel monsters. Never mind that those monsters were by Vali’s design. Byleist would do anything for a moment of Vali’s affection. For a fraction of Vali’s tender smile.

“I am sorry” Vali said suddenly, throwing Loki off. “I did not-”

“There is nothing to apologize” Loki said quickly.

“No. There is. I was…not myself that night. I was tired. And you upset Byleist, I can be over protective I admit. I raise him. I don’t like anyone upsetting him. You understand don’t you?”

“Of course. I understand” Loki had always prided his silver tongue. His ability to lie as easily as he breathes. His ability to feint any role he plays… and yet, there was one thing he could never quiet imitate. The sincerity of love, the sincerity of concern, that Vali had to a tee.

“I know you would” Vali caresses Loki’s cheek almost affectionately. “You want to see him again don’t you?”

“Only if your Majesty permits”

“Oh? Then why do I find you wandering his hall? Lingering around his tent? Were you intending to steal from him too?”

Loki’s blood ran cold.

Vali’s smile was steel.

He knew, Loki realized. Vali knew his nightly wandering. His attempts to see Byleist.

How many eyes does the Aesir King have? Two they say. Two eyes that sees all…. 

“Don’t be afraid” Vali said soothingly. “It is only natural to wish to see your prince. To apologize for upsetting him”

“Yes”

“It is unfortunate that Byleist is not so amicable isn’t it?” Vali sounded disappointed. “But I can let you make up to him. Would you like that?”

Loki became wary. “How?”

“I can let you attend him”

It was the last thing he had anticipated. He considered it for a moment. Vali had known of his desperation to see Byleist for weeks and said nothing. So why now?

Before any word could tumble out of his mouth, Thor cuts.  “No” His voice rang.

Thor had been so quiet Loki forgot he was there. He looked annoyed.

“He will not serve Byleist” Thor said. “He is _my_ Jotun. He is _my_ gladiator. Not some serving wench.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The chill in the air was biting. The stone hearth crackled. The wooden chair creaked beneath Thor’s weight as the Aesir prince stared unmoving into the flames. The floor was stone and cold. Pale silver light streaming in from the thin draperies and the windows. The wound stunk and was filled with puss. The edge of the punctures skin ashen and dead. It was rotting and spreading. The flush on the side of Thor’s neck was creeping down his back. It was a wonder Thor had not sickened with the fever.

The steel of the knife was scorching hot even as Loki held its wooden handle.

“You need to cut the dead tissue away” Thor instructed.

“I know”

Thor stilled, when cold fingers touched his shoulder. He took in a deep shuddering breath. His every muscle tightened, his fingers gripped his chair.

The moment the blistering blade touch pale skin, Thor almost howled. White hot pain sheered. He jaws clenched so hard it ached. 

There was a wet noise as Loki cuts into rotting flesh. The large pus broke. Thor gasped. Reeking brown liquid mixed with red flowed, rolling down Thor’s back. Loki worked fast, cutting and flinging the ashen flesh into a metallic bowl.

The corrupted tissue fell away easily. They were rotting.

Loki squeezed at the swollen skin, draining the pus till it was bleeding red.

The room was chocked with the smell of dead and blood. The scent so raw, it made Loki’s gut rolled.

Through it all, Thor did not scream, he did not stop Loki. His head was bowed, his eyes squeezed shut. Beads of sweat on his forehead.

Loki cut into living flesh making them bleed. Only living flesh could heal. When it was done, the wound was glistening and bloody. Loki washed it with wet cloth till the water in the basin was red.

He was adjusting the last of Thor’s bandaged when Thor poured himself a cup of wine. He was barely done with Thor’s wounds and the Aesir was drinking again.

“Perhaps your Grace would prefer something else?” Loki asked.

“I know what I prefer”

“You need to keep your body strong to fight off the poison in your blood or you would sicken”

“Wouldn’t that make you happy” Thor downed his cup.

“Happy?”

Thor shook his head, he did not elaborate.

Loki pursed his lips. He rolled up the leftover bandaged and cleaned the table. He poured the bloodied water into the sink in the adjoining bathroom and washed the blade.

Thor watched him work and commented on everything. The blade wasn’t clean enough. The bandage was rolled up wrong. Open the window. Open the damn window, he hated the stink in the room. He wanted more wine. Close the window, the snow was sweeping in. The wine was not the vintage he wanted. He was hungry.

Loki set down the plate of steaming boar in front of Thor harder than was necessary.

Thor looked up.

“ _That_ would get you whipped if I were my brother” Thor said. “You think it easy to serve him? It is not”

A kind of madness took over Loki then. He heard himself say “I think I’ve had enough practice”

Thor frowned. “My brother is not as nice as he appears”

 _"Isn’t he? Who would have thought?_  " Loki almost spit. “Your Grace, you should not say such a thing. He is your King and it is not wise to defy a King”

“Is that right?” Thor skewered a chunk of meat at the point of his knife. “Let’s stop with pretence shall we? You cared not for the commands of Aesir Kings. Byleist is all you want”

“He is my Prince. You know this”

“So he is. Do you not think it strange that my brother would make you such an offer?”

Loki snorted. Did Thor think him a fool? “Suddenly you do not seem to be singing your brother’s praises”

Thor chewed his boar and lowered his knife on the table. “I am trying to save you pain Loki. Serving Byleist will only hurt you”

“You think Byleist will hurt me?”

“I think, what is being done to him will hurt you"

"What is being done?"

"Doesn't really matter. You won't like it. And my brother is counting on it”

“Why?”

“It is a fishing trip” Thor smiled humorlessly. “To see if you would break. To see if you would let slip what you should not. My brother Vali, does not believe you are who you claim to be. He is convinced that you knew Byleist before you came to the palace. Which meant you must know him in Jotunheim. You care for him. That is plain to see. He simply need you in your grieve or anger to attack any one of us, speak treason against the crown or perhaps simply let slip you were somehow related to the Lords of Jotunheim. Not even I can protect you then”

It made no sense to Loki. “An Aesir needs no excuse to execute a Jotun. Much less a King”

“True” Thor drank, washing down the boar. “But he does like to keep his reputation of being a just King. Even to Jotuns”

Loki smiled curtly. _"_ _Not too different from you then"_  

But even knowing this, what choice did he have? He needs to speak to Byleist. He cannot leave Byleist. He refuse to leave Byleist.

“I will serve him still. If you will allow it” Loki said.

“Your say ‘if’, but you do not mean it” Thor studied him.

“He is my Prince” 

“I am your Master. Don’t you want to serve me? Don’t you love your Master?”

“I will train your gladiators and fight for you. I will serve you as I always have”

“But you don’t love me” It wasn’t a question.

Loki smiled. He shifted closer. He bends down. Hands on either side of Thor’s chair, framing him.

Scarlet meets sapphire.

“If it is love you want your Grace, ask it, and I will convince you of it” Loki whispered.

“I know your tricks. You are not as good as you think”

“Shall we test that?” Loki smiled slyly, sliding a palm over Thor’s half hard cock.

“Sex is not love” Thor husked.

“And what is love? Desire? Who could look upon you and not desire you? The Mighty Thor” Loki kissed him once, and again.

Thor groaned, a hand reached to cup Loki’s face as Loki deepened the kiss. It was gentler than Thor had ever expected of Loki and he liked it. Too soon, Loki pulled back.

A wicked smile on his face. “What will you have this time your Grace? Would you like to scream?”

“Is this some reward?”

“Why? Did you think you’ve pleased me somehow and deserving of a gift?” Loki challenged. “I think you should be punished. You left us to starve”

“Oh”

Loki grabbed Thor’s jaw in a bruising grip. “Now, I will be needing your safe word your Grace”

"No" Thor curled his fingers over Loki’s wrist. The barest of pressure, Loki released him. “I know you are not happy with me Loki. I don’t want you to be mean to me. Not like this” 

“Do you want to do something else?” Loki asked.

“No”

“Do you want me to flog you?”

“No”

“Do you want to stop thinking?”

Thor considered it. A small smile on his lips. “Aye… I would like that”

Loki kissed him, gently this time.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Five times. Thor came five times beneath his fingers and mouth. Thor liked the cold, Thor liked it rough, and he liked it gentle too. His lips, his kisses made those pale flesh shiver. Racking nails drawing groans from Aesir lips and a vicious tug of golden locks, a cry was spilling. Thor did not seem to like praises. It made him angry, withdrawn. Loki did not know what to make of it, so he stopped. His kisses would be his praises. His not too gentle twist of Thor’s golden locks would be his encouragement. Thor seemed to like it.  

Thor lay naked and boneless atop the soiled sheets. His golden hair was stuck to his sweaty face. His manhood limp and glistened wet.

A finger caresses little circles over Thor's chest. 

Thor rolled away. He sat up over the side of the bed, his back to Loki

“Your Grace?” Loki propped himself on an elbow to look at Thor.

Thor shook his head once.

“What is the matter?” Loki crawled over.

Thor refused to look at him. “You do not need to concern yourself” 

Loki kissed Thor’s shoulder.

“If you wish to go to Byleist then go. Tell my brother I will allow it. I cannot protect you if you do not wish it”

"Your Grace, I will train your gladiators still” Loki soothed. “I will still fight for you. Nothing will cha-”

“You can leave” Thor cuts. “Go get Njord. He is at the end of the hall. He will take care of me”

Loki was silent.

Thor could feel his stare, his curling anger. He pretended not to notice. “Did I stutter?”

“I’ve upset y-”

“You did nothing of the sort. I just want Njord” He looked over his shoulder. He was not surprise to see Loki’s cutting smile.

“As you wish” Loki slipped off the bed.

Thor watched him go. The taste in his mouth was one he knew well when the door snapped shut. It was the taste of disappointment and emptiness when there was no one to distract him. When his false admirers had left with his gold and favours - even when he knew they would. When with all his power and status he could do naught to make anyone stay with him willingly. They all leave him eventually... 

His jaws set tight.

How long? A week? A month? How long before Vali or Baldur finds the excuse they seek?

Thor is not blind. Being a bastard, one learn to hear and see things others do not. See the little things behind people’s smile, their eyes, their seemingly benign words. Vali wanted Loki dead and Baldur only looked upon Loki lustfully as a research subject. And one of them will surely have their wish... it was only a matter of who.

The door creak.

Njord popped his head in with a smile. “I see you are well”

“Aye”

Njord carried a basin of water in one hand and a bowl of grapes in the other. He kicked the door shut and bounded over.

“You must be hungry” He set the bowl on the bed and the basin on the floor.

The water was steaming. White cloth swirling lazily.

Thor popped a grape in his mouth as Njord place a hand over his knee. Thor spread them without thinking, letting Njord wipe his inner thigh with warm wet cloth.

Njord had to look away when he coughed.

Thor could hear the phlegm. He grimaced. “I will give you a list. I want you to get them in town and give it to me”

Njrod nodded.

Thor ate another grape.

“The sea is nearby. I can smell the scent of salt in the air when we came. I should think we could go have a look. Get out of stone chambers and stuffy halls” Njord said.

“You like the seas” Thor remembered.

“The roaring seas. With waves as high as mountains. The seas of Jotunheim, chasing, hunting sea beast larger than this fortress. Water wolves”

“Wolves?”

“Aye” Njord smirked. His lips were chapped. “With wooden boats that soar across the screaming seas on wings of winds that could tear your trees from roots. A hurricane behind us”

Thor smiled. He could never tell where fantasy and reality meets in Njord’s tale. Perhaps they were all true or perhaps none of it. It matters not. Njord gives him roaring adventures that stirs him. That made him want to go sailing, hunting, travelling… see these places. To get out of ‘stuffy’ halls and out of his bed. To forget his drinks and his false admirers.

“We would hunt with ice spears”

“Spears? You hunt water… _wolf,_ with spears?” Thor was incredulous.

“Oh aye, your Grace. You tie strong ropes to the end of your spear and your hurl it. As hard as you can. You want to aim its long belly. It is the softest see. And once you’ve pierced its scales and gotten a good latched the true hunt begins. It cannot escape you, but you’d be a fool if you think it’d go down easy. Fire and wrath it will rain on you”

Njord was a good story teller. 

“Your wolf seemed serpentine” Thor said eventually.

“It is. Long and narrow, with scales like ivory and razor teeth. Thousands of razor teeth”

“And fire”

“Fire from its scale, from its mouth” Njord said.

Thor could laugh at Njords’s wolf. It did not seem real. Nor was the description even remotely wolf-like.

“I think a water dragon be more a fitting name” Thor said.

“Aye. But the Jotun who named it wasn’t very creative and was obsessed with wolves I think. Imagined if that Jotun had loved flowers. Say lilies. The poor creature would have been named water lily. Death by water lily, I don’t think it has quite the same ring”

“No” Thor laughed then.

Njord made Jotunheim beautiful. Unique. Exciting. A realm he wanted Vali to make better so that he could visit one day.

As it is, Jotunheim is too vicious and chaotic for anyone but the military to go.

If Njord had exaggerated, Thor could forgive him for it. Which tales were not exaggerated in the telling?

He liked Njord’s tale of his travels to Vanaheim and Muspelheim too. He liked tales of light elves and the singing forests. Njord inspired him to go, and it was beautiful when he did. It was different from Njord’s tales, but it didn't matter.

Unthinking, Thor touched Njord’s collar.

Njord stilled.

Unthinking, Thor unclasped it. No seid bit his fingers. It was simply silver.

“Your Grace?” Njord questioned.

Thor traced his fingers over the ornate design. “Why did you return to me? You could have gone back to Jotunheim. Live on that sea you love. Have a mate and some little Jotuns”

“Because you gave me a choice” Njord took the silver back gently and clasped it over his neck. The seid had died three decades ago.

“Do you love me?” Thor asked.

“You know I do”

Thor knew he did not mean romantically. Jotuns are incapable of feeling such love towards another species. It is known. And in some ways it is better. A love that was separated from sex. 

“Would you love me if I had not given you this choice?”

“How can I?” Njord asked. “There is no love without freewill your Grace”

Thor thought of it. He thought of Loki’s love for Byleist. His willingness for pain, his willingness to die for his Prince without reward or compulsion. He let himself imagine for a moment, Loki coming to him willingly, being with him because he wants to, kissing him, touching him because it brought him pleasure as much as himself; and knew at once it was never to be.

If he gave Loki the choice he gave Njord, if the collar was off, if Loki could whisk Byleist away, Loki would abandon him in a heartbeat.

Why would Loki stay? Why would anyone?

Njord was a fool to. A fool he was grateful for and even then, even after so many decades, he couldn’t help but expect to be told that Njord was gone the next time he ask for him. He could put the seid back. It was as simple as asking the palace sorcerer to do it. But he didn’t.

He missed his Jotuns… Skadi… Carr… the children. They gave him the illusion that he was wanted if he did not look too closely.

Perhaps he should simply turn a blind eye to what he does not wish to see in Loki. The cold smile. The flickers of anger. The lace of venom in his tone. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn't he be satisfied with illusions? It had always been enough, hadn't it? 

Njord took Thor by the hand and brought it to his lips.

“I serve you willingly” Njord said. “Not your brothers, not Asgard, not Jotunheim…you”

“Because I gave you a choice?”

“Because Jotunheim took from me my family and my freedom. _You_ gave them back to me”   


	10. Mask of Perfection

The music played and played. One piece after another. Wine and mead spilled as the dancers twirled, leaping turning and laughing. The beat was a lively one. Thor smiled and laughed, twirling, changing partners - Lady of Sodom, Lady of the Veil, Lady of the Valley and the Norn forsaken seas for all he cared.

_Oh would you honour me with this dance?_

_Of course. Certainly._

_My sister has been dying for a dance with you. Won't you do this little favour for me._

_The pleasure is mine my Lady._

_Oh don’t you look absolutely stunning._

One painted face and another. A bow, when the dance has ended; a smile, a kiss on the hand and the next one begins. Fake laughter on painted face, lingering touches on his arm and shy flatter of lids.

His cheeks hurt from smiling, his throat sore from laughing. His head spin with mead and the music was drumming his head. The perfume was making him nauseated and his guts curl – or perhaps it was the tankards of mead.

The room was too hot, the stone chamber so stuffy he was feeling faint. And yet, it seems, only he had noticed it.

He loathed dancing, he loathed feasting. He loathed the little talks and the jokes he must laugh. He loathed the High Lords that shove their daughters in his path, hoping he would take an interest in their daughters. And yet, to the realm, he loves them all.

_You have to dance. You have to enjoy feasting._

_You have to like the ladies’ attention for what man do not. And you are a man are you not?_

_Stay away from the Jotuns. You are not a Jotun lover are you?_

_Smile. You have to be happy. You have want for nothing for what in all the realm is beyond the reach of a Prince of Asgard._

His old tutor’s words drilled into him from a time he barely reached Vali’s hips.

Vali was at the high table, listening to the Lord of Sodom speak. His fingers curled beneath his chin. He leaned on one elbow, towards the old man at his ear, flattering the host with his attention. There were the occasional nod, a smile to whichever drunkard lords that toasted him. He even drank with them if they asked it and laugh at their little stories. Ever the generous King. Ever the charmer. And ever blind to their host’s son, Gyda, taunting Byleist at the Jotun prince’s table sequestered in a corner.

Vali’s ringing laughter grates at Thor. His smile… Thor wanted to stomp up to the high table and shout at them to open their “damn eyes”.

 _“Are all of your blind?! Can’t you see it?!”_  Thor wanted to spit.

Why couldn’t anyone see it? Why couldn’t Loki see it?! Vali was a fake. His concerns, his smiles, his laughter, his generosity – they were laced with ulterior motives. 

The music spun him away from Lady Crane into another blonde, petite Lady.

“They say you are quite the dancer. I’ve been dying to dance with you” Lady Bell said.

“You are too kind” Thor smile radiantly always. Trying to lose himself in the steps in the sound of harps, flutes and rhythmic drums. Sweat trickling down his back.

A thunderous crashed, startled them.

Byleist’s table had been upturned. Porcelain dishes smashed in a thousand pieces and silver wares sprawled the stone floor. Jotun red eyes were a fire, glaring at Gyda’s pointy face, unmoving.

“You will do as you are told!” Gyda snarled at Byleist.

Vali was about to get up when their host puts a hand on his arm.

“Dance! Dance. Don’t mind them! What is feasting without a little quarrel?!” Their host laughed loudly, waving his hand at the musician.

Vali sat back down.

The music played ever louder.

Thor tossed a glance at Vali. The King had turned away.

Vali did not care. Or at least not more than his reputation.

Gyda slapped Byleist. Thor turned away as he always had to Byleist’s abuse.

_You have to dance.  Jotuns are nothing. Forget them. Smile. You have to be happy._

“Gyda will teach the filthy Jotun. He is more than capable of taking care of himself” Lady Bell soothed. 

There was a loud bang. _What did you say to me?!_  

The music played louder. Thor laughed louder.

 _“I am not the one hitting him. I am not the one abusing him”_ Thor thought. _“There is nothing I can do”_

He picked up a goblet mid dance and downed the entire thing.

"Get away from me you filthy cur!"Byleist roared.

He twirled Lady Bell and pulled her into his arms. Lady Bell giggled. It was easy to be blind. To leave. A hint of bedding and Lady Bell would be more than willing to drag him away. It was so easy...

Gyda grabbed Byleist by his hair and forcefully kissed him. Byleist bit him.

Gyda bellowed.

Thor saw Gyda’s fingers curled into a fist. With a cracked, his knuckles crunched Byleist nose. Byleist’s head whipped. Blood sprayed.

Silver bells tinkled.

Gyda pulled his fist back again.

He did not remember letting go of Lady Bell, he did not remember crossing the room, he did not remember Vali rising from his seat or the harsh silence or the hundred pair of eyes that followed him. He could not much remember what he said. Gyda’s wicked smile turned to sneer, looking pointedly for a moment at the offending finger on his wrist. Blood was pounding in his ears.

“Siding a Jotun?” Gyda spat. “It is true what they say ain’t it?! You are a bloody Jotun lover! Bet you scream when they take you up the arse!”

Thor did not remember their host’s indignant roars at his heir; or why he did not beat Gyda into a bloody pulp; he heard himself say “Wouldn’t you like to know? Shall I arrange it for you?”

Spasm of rage crossed Gyda’s face.

“Did you just threaten to arrange a rape?!” Gyda wrenched his wrist away.

“Your Majesty please! My son, he did not mean it!” Their host started to beg. No one seemed to hear him. Not even Vali, standing still as stone. His face unsmiling.

“Lord Gyda” Baldur said. “Surely you are not accusing the Prince of being an ergi”

Their host paled even more. If Gyda realised the gravity of his accusation, he did not show it.

“Your Majesty! Your Grace! As you can see, my son is drunk! He means no harm!” Their host pleaded.

“Aye” Gyda said. “I misspoke”

He turned to Thor and bowed an apology.

“Apologise to the Prince’s delicate ear” He whispered only loud enough for Thor to hear.

He leered at Byleist. Byleist hissed. It seemed to amuse Gyda.

"Please!” Gyda announced to the room. “Dance. Feast. Enjoy our hospitality! I am afraid I must retire. I am quite drunk”

Lord Gyda bowed to Vali and left.  

Thor did not look at Vali, not even Byleist. He did not look at the hundreds of faces staring at him. The Norns were merciful that Vali said no more and no one started whispering even as he crossed the chamber.

The music started playing.

He closed door behind him. He barely took ten steps when he hears the heavy door opened and banged shut. Twenty strides and Vali was silently beside him. They did not speak. Not until they were in Thor’s chamber.

Someone had kept the fire going.

“Thor-”

“You are very good at this you know… Showing concern” Thor threw the windows apart. He was suffocating in the damn heat. His head was pounding.

“I _am_ concern” Vali said. “Gyda will be punished for what he did. He had no leave to injure Byleist. There was no need to threaten a rape. You are better than this!”

“Clearly I am not”

“Your little stunt as good as confirm their vile rumours. Was that little victory worth it? If you could even call it a victory”

Thor shrugged.

“What has gotten into you?!”

The cool winter wind were a balm to his burning flesh.

“As I say…you _are_ good at this” Thor turned to Vali with a humourless laugh. “Your Lords and Ladies believe it. Byleist believes it. Even Loki… They all flock to you like birds in a heartbeat dazzled by your charms. Just don’t expect me to”

Vali looked incredulous. “If this is about Loki serv-”

“Get out” Thor said. “You’ve played your game. You’ve won. Loki is yours. Leave me be, or would you take Njord from me too”  

 

 

* * *

 

  

The Hall of Sodom was old. Moss and vines grew between its ancient stones and creep up its sprawling towers. If Loki looked out a coloured window, he would see the tiers of farms on the slopes. The Hall of Sodom, the ivory City of Sodom was built at the bottom of a fertile valley that led to the crashing seas. The only route into the city was through the mountains with slippery winding roads and unceasing winds that could blow a carriage off the edge on a good day.

The sky rumbled incessantly, and the Hall of Sodom was silent, as if she was holding her breath. Which was hardly surprising. Thor’s joy is Asgard’s joy. Thor pain is her pain. Asgard moans for the loss of their sun…the Lord and Ladies and even the small folk liked to say.

 _“How poetic…”_  Loki thought.

The people feared the wrath of their Golden Prince and the knife upon their necks. Thor is not stupid by any stretch of the imagination. He is powerful and dangerous when he chooses to be. He is a child without boundary. A spoilt brat with a temper tantrum, and all the more terrifying and terrible for he has that much power at his command.

The Golden Prince they call him. He is perfect and can do no wrong… What they meant was, he must not be told he is wrong or made to think he is anything but perfect.

Hush! Or he will bring the storm upon our heads.

Smile you fool! Do not let him see your distaste. Do not let him see your anger.

He is perfect. He is golden, powerful and beautiful.

 _“_ _I don’t care what you do”_ Vali told him before climbing on his stallion, ready to join his Lords for the hunt. _“Creep along the floor like a penitent, beg his pardon for leaving him, lie that you have no choice if you have to. Or you can lay ill in bed and have one of your gladiators tell him you have fallen into terrible grief for his rejection and his refusal to give you his blessing. That you are so distraught you may die of it. Do as you please. When I return, I expect him to be placated. Make it right…then I will let you serve Byleist”_

Loki came to Thor’s door. The two sentries exchange looks but did nothing. They did not open the door for him nor did they stop him when he took a step closer and close his fingers over the knob.

When he entered, he had to take care not to step on broken glass. The chamber was a mess of broken things. The tables were turned and chairs broken. Pitchers toppled and porcelain dishes smashed. Berries sprawled the stone floor and the chamber smelt thickly of wine and mead.

He found Thor sitting on the floor beside his bed, staring at a plain stone wall. His hair a tangled mess and he was still in yesterday’s wear.

Loki glanced at the destruction about him. Forget crawling, his hands would be ribbons and splinters if he tried. And he did not think Thor needed a damsel in distress to sooth him. Thor is in no shape to be the warrior hero.

“Thor?” Loki called gently.

Thor did not look at him.

Loki shifted the broken chair of the way, careful not to step on the glass as his boots squished over smashed pomegranate. He knelt down beside the Prince.

“Did my brother send you?” Thor was still not looking at him.

“No” He lied.

“What do they say about me?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything” Another lie.

There were a hundred rumours, one more ridiculous than the next, as rumours tended to be. It was hard to tell where the truth ends and the fantasy begins. The only thing consistent was that some sort of rape had been threatened and the characters involved. Whether Thor was going to do the rape or Byleist or some Jotun or some servant was up for debate. And the story leading to such a thing was just as bizarre. Some say Thor was jealous over the Lord’s son making out with Byleist. Some say Thor was sleeping with Byleist. Some say…well, they say a lot of things. The servants gossip worse than the merchants in the market place.

“Am I to go to lunch? Is that why you were sent? To get me ready?” Thor asked.

“I am here because I want to be” Loki placed a hand over Thor’s arm.

Thor close his fingers over Loki’s and squeeze. He turned to Loki, looking infinitely older and so exhausted.

“How’s your neck?” Loki asked.

“Just fine”

“You worry me. You worry your brothers and your friends that you send away”

“I wouldn’t want to worry anyone. What should I do then hm?” Thor asked. “Should I clean myself, braid my hair and go about with a smile? Should I laugh and be merry always?”

“That is not wh-”

“I am the Golden Prince. And I am happy always for what could I want that is not within my grasp” Thor gave a smile which was more a grimace. Curling anger and resentment in his sapphire gaze as he looked upon Loki.

For a heartbeat Loki thinks Thor despise him.

“What is it that you want?” Loki asked.

“What I can never have” There was a bitter undertone.

Loki did not think Thor meant his honesty. Thor would have out rightly demanded it if it were as he had always done. This was different. It touched something much deeper within Thor. Before Loki could think of a reply, Thor released Loki’s hand and lid it over the mattress for balance as he stood to his feet.

Loki stood with him.

In a breath, Thor’s eyes were lit and his smile relaxed. He had slipped behind his cheerful, reckless mask.

“You can tell my brother I am well and be off with your new duties. I do not want to keep you” Thor walked passed him. His boots crunched the broken glass.

Loki could leave. Should leave. Thor wanted him to leave after all. He could tell Vali that all is fine. And it would be. He did not doubt the Golden Prince would reappear from his room, cheerful and merry before the sun reaches its highest peak. All anger, despair, anguish shrugged off as if yesterday’s garb. The Prince would act the fool and laugh that he had wrecked his room. 

Loki hears the water running in the bath and the rustle of clothes. He hears Thor’s groans and gasped and a splash of water. He thinks Thor is in the tub he drew himself.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was bright and the winter winds were soothing against Njord’s shivering skin. The market place was cramped, with dozens of steaming clay pots and burning grills. Then there were shop of scented herbs, spices, dried roots, flowers and candles.

Njord was sure the flowers and scented soap smells wonderful, but he couldn’t smell them. His nose were so stuffy he could hardly breathe.

Aesir medication were useless at best and poison at worst.

He coughed. Fire sheered down his chest. He grimaced. He looked at the stained, crumbled list in his hand again.

 _“_ _Can’t you read the damn sign?!”_

_"Go away!”_

_“We don’t trade with animals”_

_“For you, we are out of stock”_

He felt light headed and so numb with fever he could barely understand the words on it. Chickens clacked loudly as they were pulled from their metal cages. Farmers ushered their cows, boar and goats down the cramped path.

He is tired, he is aching from head to toe and he just wanted to sit down somewhere.

It had taken all morning to cross out only four items from his list of fifteen.

In Sodom not even extra gold could convince traders to look beyond his skin. Not even Thor’s name and sigil could compel them to trade with him. If anything, it only inflamed them.

A lady had flung a huge jar at him when he brought up Thor’s name.

 _“My son! My son was a farmer! Do you know how many times he held a sword in his life?! I can count them on one hand and have digits to spare and you killed him!”_  She screamed _. “Get out! Get out!”_

All Jotun slaves and their slavers knew Sodom to be a Jotun’s graveyard. Travelers with Jotun slaves tended to avoid the area if possible and if not, then it was best to leave at first light.

His once slaver avoided Sodom like a plague. Curious misfortunes tended to befall Jotuns here. Mysterious illness that wiped out the entire stock, or perhaps a little tumble down the cliff.

Sodom was an agriculture, almost cult like community that do not trade with Jotuns or in Jotun flesh.

He sees their hateful glares as he passed. He sees their clenched teeth and curling lips when he look their way.

 _“I didn’t fight in the war”_ He wanted to scream. “ _Your sons’ killers are likely dead on the field or starving to death at the wall! If you are angry with them, go to the city wall and spit on them! If you are angry with your King then go take it up with him! If it is Odin you are mad at, go curse the sky for all I care! Just not me! I have nothing to do with your sons’ death!”_

It was a useless thought. These farmers, traders, hunters and laborers did not care. All they knew was their sons, who had only ever held hoes and wooden swords before being enlisted had gone to Jotunheim to kill ‘evil’ Jotuns and never returned. All Jotuns are killers in their eyes.

 _“They would stone me if they could”_ He did not doubt. But he belonged to Thor and they knew it. And so they seethe; fingers curling and uncurling over the blade at their belt. Thinking up poison.

He looked up at another herb store. Another wooden “ **No Jotuns** ” sign hung on rings of metal at the store front. 

The young men at the store noticed him looking, pointed to the sign above his head and went back to his reading.

Njord could scream. He could weep.

“Njord is it?” A voice said.

Njord turned. It was only Lord Gyda. Their host’s rebel heir, flanked by his four pompous friends.

“My Lords” Njord croaked, and bowed the best he could. His head felt stuffed full of cottons. He sniffed.

“You are not bothering my people are you?” Gyda smirked.

 

 

* * *

 

  

He only meant to keep Thor distracted from the thought of missing the hunt, but he enjoyed the hike more than he thought he would. Perhaps it was because he no longer worry about holding Thor’s wavering attention… He found he could actually breathe.

He loved the scent of tea leaves and the cold winter crisp against his skin as they walked up the slope of farms. The greenery was beautiful and easy on the eye and the view into the valley was stunning.

A kaleidoscope of colours.

Asgard was a realm of a thousand shades. Travels with former Masters and slavers had brought him to the strangest of places of vivid colours in the falls and springs. The winters were grey and white with burst of green and red and the summers were gold. He had slept beneath the starry skies and the rushing falls. He had swam in the cool lakes of Asgard, catch a trout with his bare hands to his former Master’s amusement and watched in wonder at the illuminating falls. He had travelled some of the seediest alleys of Asgard and walked some of the richest halls of gold.

On their way up the slope, he saw at least twenty flowers he had never seen before, thin pointy trees that grew at perilous angles over the edge and mountain goats skipping up and down to sheer side tittering on narrow cracks, licking the salt off the stone.

The sloping height reminded him of Jotunheim. The scent of trees, earth, flowers and shrubbery draws him. For a maddening second, he wanted to take off his boots and feel the earth beneath his feet, feel her seid tingle his skin, as he sometimes did when his handlers weren’t looking. It was almost a game sometimes and their indignant was part of the fun. The lashing and starvation… the pits, the beating from patrons, the rape…not so much. But he still found things to laugh at with Tyr and getting into mischief because one must find humour in the horrors and wonders in the terrors to stay sane.

Thor had stopped again. He was picking strange red flower between the stones and stuffing them into his leather pouch by his side.

“And what’s that for?” Loki asked as Thor stood.

“It has calming properties” Thor dusted his hands over his pants. “You need to eat it though. You can’t boil it with your tea. It’ll give you a nasty rash”

“Oh”

“Try” Thor plucked a petal and handed it to Loki.

Loki looked at it skeptically.

Thor barked a laugh. He rolled the petal into a little wrap, slipped it into his mouth and chewed.

Loki looked incredulous. What about dirt? Wasn’t Thor going to wash it before putting it in his mouth?

“Don’t go putting just anything in your mouth!” Loki snapped without thinking.

That only made Thor smile even more. “You certainly have the making of a parent”

Loki flushed. “I-”

“Are you sure you won’t have any? You look like you could use some” Thor teased; plucking another petal.

“I have no desire to spend my days in a privy”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you something for that too. I know just the thing”

“No!”

Thor laughed.

It was a long walk up the hill. They don’t talk about Thor’s little confession in the morning or Loki serving Byleist tomorrow or about the rumours, or Vali, or gladiator matches or the Lords and Ladies. They talked about wild plants. It was incredible to hear Thor speak of them. How chewing or heating them would bring out different effect. How taking a combination could be poison or it could cool down a fever.

They stopped thrice more.

“I didn’t know Aesirs use them so” Loki said.

“They don’t” Thor confessed. “They work best on Jotuns”

“Oh”

“Sometimes my Jotuns get sick. Aesir medicine doesn’t always work. These plants may not be of Jotunheim, but their properties are similar. Carr taught me to brew some basics medicine. It is easy to work on it once you know the basics. It is just logic”

 _“To you maybe”_ Loki was impressed.

“Anyone could do it. It is nothing” Thor shrugged. He looked shamed that he knew what he did.

Loki could guess why. Jotuns should not be worth the effort. If anyone knew Thor spent hours by the fire, fanning the fire just right beneath a clay pot he would be mocked.

They reached the peak by mid-afternoon. Sweat rolling down their backs. Loki’s muscles were aching wonderfully. It wasn’t the pain of broken bones or the pain of an open wound. It was the slow throbbing kind. The good kind after a good exercise.

There were scarcely any plants at the peak. It was just them.

Thor stood beside him. The wind caresses their hair like dainty fingers. They could see the entire valley and the roaring seas at the horizon.

 _“Njord would love it. He would jump off the cliff”_ Thor thought with a smile. He wondered suddenly if Loki would like it too. He doesn’t know. He realised he knew nothing of Loki. He had never thought of asking Loki what he liked and not. Never thought much beyond making sure he was not deceived by the silver tongued liar. So desperate to always be a step in front, so desperate for Loki’s honesty to the point of _demanding_ “genuine” affection if such a thing could even be demanded, until it didn’t matter anymore; because Loki was going to serve another despite all that Loki claim otherwise.

“Do you like the seas?” Thor asked. “I hear the seas of Jotunheim is a sight to behold”

“I’ve never been to Jotun sea” Loki confessed.

Laufey hated that Helblindi insist on joining the navy. He made sure Loki and Byleist never got anywhere near the sea least they fell in love with her too. A pirate with a prince hostage would empty the King’s treasury. One almost did.

“Perhaps one day you will” Thor said.

“Aye” There is no perhaps about it.

He would surely return to Jotunheim and her incredible glacial. To his courtyard of scarlet leaves and grey roses. He would feel the rushing wind in his face again and hear the howls of wolves in the long nights, feel the shift of ice beneath his bare feet and the icy seid in his lungs… that is a promise.

He thought he would very much like go to the shores he had never seen and feel the rushing water beneath his feet too. He could just imagine them in his mind’s eye.

He turned to Thor with a soft smile of forgotten joy.

“Perhaps I would” 

“Perhaps I can be there too when you do” Thor liked Loki’s smile. It made Loki looked younger, less frigid and hard; more innocent and much kinder. He had never seen Loki smile so…

 

 

* * *

 

 

Blood curdling shriek tore Njal from his dreams. For a moment he could not tell where he was. It was dark and the stars were still high in the sky. But he could see strange flickers of light from his window. He could smell the scent of smoke. His heart hammered. He got up. His feet touched the snow packed ground. There were deafening crashes, the breaking of barrels and the hair rising howls of wolves.

There was loud running footsteps.

His door banged open.

At once he was on his feet. His dam’s face was smeared with blood and wild. Pale and shaking.

“Dam?” Njal squeaked.

“No time! There is no time! You must leave now!”

His dam crossed the room in three swift steps and grabbed him by the arm, hauled him out the door, and they were thundering down the steps. His dam was so quick Njal almost lost his footing. He snubbed his toes twice. His dam hauled him into the kitchen.

The shouting and banging were deafening downstairs. There was a loud crash that shook their door. His dam stopped suddenly, whirling around. Njal almost smacked into him.

Lights were flickering wildly outside. There were shouts of curses and wild roars of desperation. Red eyes looked down at him with all the words that would never leave his dam’s lips. Rough fingers caresses his smooth cheek once in desperation.

“You need to run to the city do you understand?”

“But I don’t wa-”

“Listen to me!” His dam shook him. “You go to the Ice City. You get help. Go to the governor. Straight to the governor you hear me?!”

Njal shook his head, tears welling.

There was a thunderous bang. The wooden door splintered.

Njal almost screamed.

His dam snatched the kitchen knife off the counter. Wooden bowls flew.

His dam turned, blocking him from view.

“You traitors!” The monster lunged at his dam.

“Go!” His dam bellowed.

Njal bolted.

Outside was a scene of Hel. The kennels, the storehouses, the farms were on fire. Upon the mountain side, the acres of red leafy crop the Aesirs brought to Jotunheim were burning. For a moment the slope looked to bleed.

Bodies piled. The icy ground dyed in red.

Screams. There was so much screaming. Screams that rang in his head. Screams that would not go away even when he shuts his ears.

A direwolf tore his uncle’s throat open. There was wet noise as the creatures fed on the flesh of the dead.

He ran. And he ran. Tears streaming down his face.

The monsters of his waking nightmares were not pale faced demons. They were red eyed and blue skin.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Had there ever been a sweeter sight… Loki could kiss the Aesir. Loki could kiss Fandral when the blasted door unbolted and Fandral stood on the other side, soaked to the bones.

“Get out! Come on!” Fandral was out of breath.

The Jotuns bolted, slamming Fandral against the stone wall. Fandral fell with a splash. The gladiators thundered up the steps.

Icy water gushing down.

“What is happening?” Loki hissed with urgency, as Fandral steadies himself.

The skies screamed with the voice of Thor. Thunder bellowed, threatening to split the earth. He could taste the seid in the air, - the rage… _so_ much rage, bitterness and the anguish… He could taste it on his tongue, and feel it tearing into his skin like blades.

_“Thor. What has happened? What have you done?”_

A thrumming of power such that he had never felt. Not even when Bilskirnir was burned and Thor’s Jotuns slaughtered had he felt it.

“We need to evacuate now” Fandral swipe a wet gloved hand down his face.

A thin veil of glittering ice was quickly forming over the Aesir's silver armour. His golden cloak swirling in the rising ice water. Hay, mud, shit, wood and leafs floated about their waist and it was getting higher.

“Come! Hurry!” Fandral pulled Loki up the stone steps. His breath came in mist. Ice clung to the tip of his golden locks and beard.

The higher Loki went the thicker the seid. The hotter, until it threatens to blister his skin; forcing imagery into his mind.

_Blood…_

_Red…_

_Njord was pale_ _as sheet and mumbling incoherently. His breathing was shallow and he was dripping in cold sweat. His red hair was chopped in odd angles and patches were skinned off his bloody scalp. Bruises and bone deep gash littered the broken body._

_“Help him! Please!” He cried in foreign voice._

Loki tripped, smacked his chin on the stone step. He bit his tongue.

“Watch it!” Fandral jerked him to his feet.

Once he was in the courtyard, he hears it – beneath the screeching of wind, the urgent rings of bells. Guards and soldiers rushed and roared in the snow covered yard.

Frantic words, drowned, lost, in the booming wind.

_“The coast is gone! The-”_

_“Jotun fucker-”_

_“Evacuate-”_

Stones, soil, twigs, snow and barks flew, smashing into windows.

_“All for a Jotun–“_

_“The town-”_

_“Buried-”_  

Lightning streaked  through brewing cloud, black as night. Hail the size of melons smashed the stables. The horses neighed and kicked. Dogs barked. The stone towers groaned. The ground shook, ice creaked up the pillars.

_Judging eyes… laughing ones…_

_You must be joking, to waste anything on this they say._

_Just get another._

_Blood seeped through thick trembling fingers. The reeking stench of open guts and torn intestine rose. Blood… running down his hands…_

_“Help him! I command you to help him!”_

_Laughing eyes mocked him. Jotun lover. Jotun fucker._

_“I cannot stop the bleeding” a little voice said._

_“Look at the mess it is. Let it die. You’ve had this old things for centuries. It’s a good excuse to ask your brother for a new one”_

_White hot anger blistered his veins. He saw red._  

Loki could scream at the thousands of tiny vicious mouths that bit into his every nerve ending. He could scream at the fury and grief that course through him like electric waves.

He gasped, gripping his stiff ebony locks.

“We need to go now!” Fandral grabbed his arm in a pincher grip.

Loki could barely speak; barely breathe. His heart hammered, his entire body trembled.

_He sees him in the eye of an electric storm. Lightning exploded at the side of the mountain. An avalanche of stones, snow and mud. The women and children screamed, leaping out of their carriage at the side of the mountain. The driver blanched. The horses reared._

_"Stop!" Loki screamed, but is unheard._

_The shrieks of wind was getting louder and louder in his ears. The God of Thunder, the Lord of Storm looked over the valley unmoving. Golden hair whipped in the hurricane, as wood, stones, steel, trees, soil and scattered structures flew and smashed._

_There was a mighty groan that shook the earth. The stone tower crumbled._

_There was screaming, so much screaming._

_Thor opened his arms, uncurled his fingers. Electric sizzled between his digits, over his entire form._

_"Thor! Enough!" Loki grabbed him from the front of his tunic. Electric sheared his fingers, pealed his flesh._

_Blinding pain shot up his arm._

_"Thor!"_

_Lightning streaked through the entire valley like ruptured veins; and came the sound of anguished roar._

Thunder boomed.

Fandral dragged him across the courtyard.

Servants were hauling trunks of gold. Their Lords shouting in hysteria for them to move.

Hurry! Hurry!

The warriors were loading shivering children and women onto wooden carriages. The wind froze their tears to their rosy cheeks as they huddled close for warmth. Ice clung to their gowns, ice clung to their hair.

Hail, snow, rain fell.

Roofs ripped. The mountain groan.

Loki stopped suddenly. Fandral almost lose his grip.

“Loki!” Fandral turned. He stilled.

Tears were streaming down Loki’s face.

“Loki…?” Fandral lifted his gloved hand to Loki’s face, but he did not dare touch.

 _“The tears are not mine. They are his”_ Loki did not say.

The Aesir do not sense seid in the way the Jotuns do – not even their sorcerers. They do not speak with it, they do not see with it… they barely understood it beyond carving their spells.

_Judging eyes. Laughing ones._

_What’s the matter? Just get another…this is the perfect excuse to get a new one. This one is old, sickly and ugly._

“No one is leaving” Loki said.

“What are you talking about?!”

“Where is the King?” He meant… _Where is Byleist?_


	11. War of Hearts

“ _Don’t let them see. Don’t let him know, if he does not yet”_ Vali had whispered to him in secret. _“Do this for me, and you shall have my favour”_

Oh…the King has a dirty little secret. Loki could laugh at the creature he found in the eye of the storm. Amid chaos and ruins, gone were its pale skin and sapphire eyes.

 _“How does it feel your Majesty? To spend all that time, all that effort hiding, and to see it fail so spectacularly?”_ He should fail his task. Oh he _should_ … Let the Aesir see their King’s dirty little secret. Let them see their monarch for what they truly are… liars and murderers, with Jotun blood. It would set Asgard ablaze, it would tear the realm apart. And yet…

Later Loki would not be able to explain why he did what he did. Why would he care to hide Vali’s secret? Perhaps he quite like the King of Asgard being in his debt. Perhaps he was not as heartless as he liked to believe. Perhaps he was not so much helping an Aesir but a Jotun. Or perhaps, he knew the revelation would destroy the Golden Prince and he didn’t think Thor deserved it.

Hail the size of boulders fell, striking dead the cattle in the fields. Tearing grapes from vines and vegetation from soil. The ground shook, the temples creaked and swayed dangerously.

Holy men praying in desperation in their crumbling shrine.

Boulders falling and statues toppling, smashing into a thousand pieces.

A flash of light. The ground cracked into a thousand raptured veins.

 _“By what right does a mere beast judge a God! By what right!”_  Thor roared in Loki’s mind so clearly, for a moment Loki thought Thor had screamed it through the bellowing wind; but his lips did not move. His electric eyes burning bright as lighting sizzled across his cerulean form. Golden hair whipped in abandoned.

Thor is the vision of absolute power, the vision of destruction and death. The embodiment of the brutality of nature. A hurricane. An electric storm.

“Every right!” Loki’s voice was drowned by the shrieking wind that sliced his skin. “Look around you! What have you done?!” He took another step forth, and another. “When Gods play their little game, it is the innocent that suffers! The innocent that dies!”

Thunders roared. _“Show me a hundred that are innocent in this forsaken town, and I shall stay my wrath. For the hundred, I will let them all live!”_

“What of ten? Will you not stay your wrath for ten?”

_“Show me the ten and I will stay my wrath”_

“What of one?” Loki was close enough to touch him. “Will you let them all live for one?”

“You are not innocent” Thor said.

“I am not” Loki agreed. “But what of Narfi?”

Vali’s little boy…

What sins has a sickly boy with a bright smile committed to warrant death? He gives innocence a face for Thor. It is much harder to pass a death sentence to a face one knows than a thousand faceless babe.

Thor’s jaws tightened. He did not speak, he did not move.

Loki reached to touch his clothed arm. Electric seid prickled his fingers like a thousand tiny biting mouth. Greif, guilt and pouring rage thrummed through Loki, twisting, tightening over his chest; drowning him.

 _How can a Jotun mean so much to you?_ Loki could barely understand.

Hesitantly, he reached to cup Thor’s icy face. His thumb caresses Thor’s cheek.

“Cease your wrath I beg you” A tingle of seid on Loki’s fingers; pale milky flesh chased away cerulean ones. Thor did not seem aware of it.  “Remember not what they had done. But that they are your people”

“I am alone” Thor confessed. His voice was the howl of wind.

“I am here. Your brothers are here for you”

“Njord is dead”

“His Majesty will not let Njord die”

“Not even the King commands death”

“For you, he will” Loki did not doubt. 

For Thor, Vali would bend every laws, morals and convention. For Thor, for his family, is there anything Vali will not do…? Is there anything Vali will not give?

“And what have I done, to deserve my brother’s unending devotion?” Thor asked.

“You are his brother”

Thor laughed. His voice echoed through the rumbling skies. It was bitter and broken. “Then why do I hear the sound of marching feet? Are my brother’s warriors coming to escort me to the banquet table?”

Loki did not know how Thor could hear anything through the storm. But he was not about to deny it. Thor’s actions left Vali no choice. The warriors are coming. The King cannot stand idle as the prince buries an entire town.

“You do not make it easy for him” Loki said.

At once lightning streaked, exploding the mountain side. The ground shook. An avalanche.

“They killed Njord and I could do nothing!” Thor shoved Loki. His voice a thunder.

Loki stumbled, almost losing his footing as Thor surged. Electric crackled over Thor’s entire form, dancing from his gloved digits.

Loki’s heart thumped

“With Baldur, there is little I can do. But a mere Lord, there is little I will stand for!” Thunders boomed.

It was the first time Thor had ever indicated that not all was forgiven. Not all was forgotten, for all Thor could act otherwise. Njord’s injury tonight was just another reminder for Thor of how little his name meant. It was the drop of water that broke the failing dam.  

The back of Loki’s leg bumps a broken trunk. “Thor” He threw his hands out to touch Thor’s chest. Electric seid burned.

Thor’s hand shot up to lid the side of Loki’s neck, stilling him.

Blazing white meets scarlet.

“They should not have touched what is mine” Thor rumbled.

“Those that attacked Njord will be punished” 

“One head or a dozen, puts mere whispers in the wind. Rumours that would be twisted into something they are not”

“And now?” Loki demanded. “You mean to destroy a town for the transgression of one fool and his friends? Hundreds are dead and yet the fool and his friends lived. What do the people say now?”

“They will say Sodom is where my wrath has fallen. The details matters not. If I cannot have respect, I will have fear” Thor smiled to himself. “No one will dare harm you or any of my Jotuns beyond the fighting pits again. I’ve saved you all at last. Let them do as they please with me”

Before Loki could think to speak, Thor pulls him close. Golden head bowed, burying pale face against the crook of Loki’s neck.

Loki stilled.

The wind died a fraction, the clouds rumbled.

“Your Grace -”

“I’ve saved you” Thor whispered. Gloved fingers tightened over Loki’s ebony locks almost in desperation. “No one will dare touch you now” A silent plea for Loki to agree.

To lie if need be.

Thor did not wish to hear or be convinced otherwise. He did not wish to hear he had almost drowned his own Jotuns. He did not wish to be convince innocence had died for his wrath or that his actions were disproportion to the crime or that for all his raw powers he cannot reign Vali or Baldur to his whims.

At least not that instant.

If only for a moment, he pleads for relief, for comfort like man pleads for water in a dessert. An illusion… And Loki was nothing if not an illusionist. A story teller. And this was a simple tale of a knight in shining armour.

Loki cradled Thor’s head against him. “You’ve saved me” He kissed the shell of Thor’s ear. “You’ve saved us all”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “If you are to attend me, I expect you to present yourself better or I will take the skin off your back” Byleist said by way of greeting.

“It won’t happen again” Loki stepped towards Byleist.

Thunders were still rumbling overhead. His ebony hair stiff and veil in crystalline ice. He is soaked to his bones, ice falling off his shoulders.

It was a rare opportunity that he was allowed to be with Byleist alone. Vali was occupied with Thor’s mess and Byleist’s old witch was occupied with keeping Njord alive. The soldiers were helping the injured, digging survivors from avalanche.

He could hear barks of comment beyond Byleist’s massive tent. He could hear the neighs of horses and the wails of men, women and children as body were carted in on stretchers and wagons.

Great pits were being dug, to throw the corpses into for burning in the next three hours.

Vali in his hurry had only stationed two guards at the entrance. Loki did not doubt they were the best though.

“Don’t expect special treatment” Byleist watched Loki approached from where he sat.

“I don’t” Loki murmured.

Pale scarlet eyes staring back at him were cold and distant. Eyes so familiar yet not at all. He wants to hold him, kiss him. He wants to cradle him in his arms and never let him go, A thousand words threaten to escape his tongue, and yet, he knew it would not be welcomed.

The Byleist before him was not the Byleist of his memory. That much was clear from their first encounter weeks ago. Byleist was a hair breath away from revealing him to Vali then. He must take this slow, even if they were running out of time.

“Attend me” Byleist commanded.

Loki did not need elaboration. He had heard it enough on Asgard. He touched Byleist shawl that was fastened from his shoulder.

Byleist did not seem concern as Loki struggled to unravel the intricate knot. The dampness of the fabric was making it even harder.

Byliest did not complain. He stared off in the distance with the indifference of someone used to attendance. It was unusual on Jotunheim to be attended; even for the King. Jotuns prized being able to do things for oneself. To be self-sufficient. This was a behavior Byleist had learned on Asgard…especially with his arms...

Once the knots were undone, he slid the shawl off Byleist. His fingers brushes Byleist’s snowy locks, soft as silk.

The damp garment underneath was more intricate than even Thor’s or any of the courtier’s he had seen. It was white with silver brocade and gold trimmings. The lacing went from Byleist’s neck down his torso, and ran in a single line. The strings were narrow and tight.

Loki stilled, when he finished unlacing. He had never actually seen Byleist’s handicap. It was always hidden beneath his shawl and clothes.  

Byleist looked at him. A challenge in his pale eyes.

 _“What am I doing?”_ Loki chastised himself.

After all he had been through for Byleist, it was ridiculous that he should reject Byleist for this. It was ridiculous to fear this.

“Go on” Byleist said.

Loki tightened his fingers and pulled the damp fabric off Byleist. He took in a deep breath at the scars that ran up the skin of that was left of Byleist arm.

They were burn scars, and his stump was a mess of scar tissues. The flesh below Byleist’s neck was a mesh mash of old whip, cuts and burn scars, so extensively, his Jotuns lines were barely recognisable or visible.

“Continue” Byleist clipped.

Byleist’s pants and undergarment were next. Byleist stood to make it easier for Loki.

For a moment Loki could not understand what he was seeing when he pulled the last fabric from Byleist. Then he did. His blood ran cold, bile rising to his throat. The Aesir had castrated Byleist.

He looked away, and regretted it at once.  _“He is your sibling! What are you doing?! Look at him!”_

Loki quickly picked up the thick towel from the table to cover his blunder. He pressed the towel to Byleist’s icy skin, drying him gingerly.

“Does the sight of a cockless Jotun disgust you?” Byleist tilted his head.

“No” Loki looked up.

“Liar” Byleist sounded almost gleeful at catching Loki. “Your eyes always gives the lies of your tongue”

“You do not disgust me”

“You are just like the rest of them” Byleist said. “You do not want to save a damaged Prince”

“You are not damaged”

Byleist’s lips tightened. “Aye. From the neck up I am not”

Loki did not know what to say to that.

Byleist snorted. “You don’t even know what to do with me do you? You are thinking you’ve wasted your time coming all the way here for damaged goods!”

“No”

“You are thinking I should have died!”

“I -”

“That way at least I am immortalized in a perfect form!”

“The only thing that is the matter with you is that you’ve forgotten who you are!” Loki snapped.

Byleist was stunned silent at the sudden burst.

Loki knew at the back of his mind that this was all going wrong. He knew subconsciously that he should hold his temper. But he did not cross realms for damaged goods. He had not allowed himself to be sold like cattle, raped, beaten and humiliated for trash. He did not crawled on his knees, put his life on the line and stripped himself of his identity for a ‘nothing’.

Or so he so boldly scream at the forefront of his mind.

He refused to acknowledge the niggling disappointment at the back of his mind. He did not dare. 

“What has the Aesir told you that you’ve lost sight of your value?!” Loki demanded. “You are the child of Laufey and Farbauti!”

Byleist paled “You are the Crown Prince of Jotunheim! Have you forgotten that?!” 

“Get out” Byleist gritted.

“Get out?” Loki looked at Byleist, incredulous. He hadn’t even dressed Byleist yet. And Byleist couldn’t do it himself with his arms… “Do you intent to get the guards to dress you?”

A moment later Byleist smashed his knees into Loki’s jaw. The blow was explosive. Loki whipped back, slammed the table behind him. Metallic pitcher and empty goblets fell.

“Guards!” He heard Byleist called.

The flap to the tent opened. The rush of icy wind funneled the tent.

“I am done with him!”

Loki felt hands grabbed him; hauled him back roughly.

The moment he was thrown out of Byleist’s tent a tumult of noise smashed over him. Barks of dogs and curses of disgruntle soldiers. A red faced child bawling his eyes out as he stood amid the rushing warriors not paying him any heed. Half melted snow fell heavy all about him, covering the ground in slush. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Fandral coming to him.

“His Majesty summons you” Fandral said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 “Be careful” Fandral hissed, just before he marched Loki into the council’s tent.

Thor stood before Vali enthroned in his wooden chair, flanked by Baldur and what Loki assumed to be his council of Generals and Lords. They were all soaked to their bones and shivering.

Half a dozen brazier were crackling around the tent, but not even that could a dent to the icy air.

It only took a look for Loki to know that they were all on their last straw of patients. Even Vali who was always compose looked ready to crack. The usually impeccably dressed King was soaking in his armour and shivering with the rest of his crew. Thor wasn’t. But no one seemed to notice.

“Here is your witch” Vali gestured.

 _Witch?_ Loki let the words sink in.

“I didn’t take you for fools that believed in superstitions. What more a Jotun one” Thor was back to his composed self.

“Your Grace, if this Jotun has done anything to you, you must tell us. We will not think less of you” One Lord said with sympathy.

“He hasn’t done anything I did not command. I am not bewitched. I am not under a spell”

“Your defence of him is evidence enough!”

“You will not be the first Aesir to become infatuated with a Jotun. And this one is silver tongued and quick of mind” Baldur said. “I can’t walk down the hall without hearing what gossip this one had conjured. He has seduced you! Convinced you to act against your people! Taken advantage of your innocence”

“My innocence” Thor’s lips curled. “Brother I assure you -”

Loki could see the two Odinson's orchestrated play for what it was. _They intent to rile the fool. Paint him the naïve child, drunk at the taste of Jotun cunts and cocks. Then let his temper make their case. That their innocent prince has been cursed by sorcery to hurt them. Hate them. And I the wicked sorcerer._

“Then how do you explain your actions of late?” Vali demanded “Since this creature came, you have brought Jotuns into the palace wall that started a slaughter. You have threatened to murder your brother and now this!”

There were a chorus of murmurs and nodding heads as if the _revelation_ gave them all the evidence they needed.

“Brother!”

“How then do you explain he would find you before anyone else?!” Vali pushed. “That he be the only one able to bring you to your senses?!”

 _“_ _You bloody bastard”_ Loki looked at Vali who sat unfazed. As if to say, _try it._ The secret would not save him. If anything, it will seal his fate. If he change in Thor’s skin, Vali would claim it to be a curse. Proof of his malicious sorcery.

“He has you under his spell. Blind you to the truth, brother!” Baldur took a step forth. “And you don’t even realize it”

Electric seid prickled; the sky rumbled.

“Will you strike me dead for a mere Jotun?” Baldur spread his arms.

“I will-”

“Your Grace!” At once Fandral stepped pass Loki; a hand on Thor’s shoulder.

Baldur could not have been more pleased. “See what the witch has done to my brother!” Baldur turned to the Council. “See that I speak truth!”

Blood pounded in Loki’s ears. He counted two dozen guards standing at the edge of the tent. He was five pace at most from Vali; to put a blade through the King’s neck.

Thor though, was barely two steps away.

Escape with a blade to Thor’s throat was futile. He would be killed the moment he stepped foot out of this tent.

But he could kill Thor. It was the next best thing.

Vali can watch his brother die.

It was hardly recompense for what Vali did to Byleist, did to Laufey, Farbauti, Helblindi… to his people… but he would have the pleasure of seeing the monster’s face contort in pain.

Loki’s fingers curled; a nub of ice forming. The seid in his collar prickled dangerously – growing rapidly hotter. He clenched his jaws, bite his tongue. Perhaps the collar would kill him before the guards.

“I am a spoilt child remember?! I throw a tantrum when my toys get broken!” Thor was shouting now. 

Loki took a step. Ice bit against his palm. Seid pinched. His throat burned.

He could see the ice that clung to those wild golden locks. Almost imagine the heat of that bobbing throat; the feel of thick muscles rippinf beneath his blade. Almost imagine the shock in those too blue eyes.

“ _It won’t hurt much…”_

“I see you cannot be reasoned” Vali said suddenly. “We will continue this later”

With a motion, the guards moved towards them. 

A hand clamped over Loki’s shoulder. Loki turned to stare at Vali’s cold sapphire eyes. The King knows. The chunk of ice hard in his hand. The guard jerked him back.

Thor turned, angry. “Get your hands off him!”

“Thor stop!” Fandral held him back.

“That’s enough!” Vali bellowed. His face dark.

The room stilled. Even Thor was silent.

“Are you so infatuated you cannot bear to be away from him for a moment?!” Vali snarled. “Should I take him from you now before your madness is beyond reason?!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When dawn came, the sky was clear and had turned a cobalt blue. Just over the mountains that surrounded the valley, there was a glow that could be seen – a pale gold with tinged of powder pink. As the sun rose, the heat beats down on his body. Stripped of armour and gold, covered in sweat and dirt he was no different from the rest.

His brothers would have him locked away at the heart of the camp on fluffed cushions and a belly full of wine, cheese and olives – knowing nothing. There was an order to speak nothing to him.

_Why bring troubled words to an already troubled mind? A spell holds the Prince’s mind captive. And until the witch is killed, and the spell broken, it is only wise to keep silent around the Prince. Who knows if the witch could see as the Prince sees and hear as the Prince hears._

A very compelling narrative to make sure he knew nothing.

The broken branch groaned and creaked beneath his arms and he dragged the rotten thing to the side.

“Don’t move it too quickly. They might get suspicious” Fandral puts his hands on his hips. Golden hair clicked back with sweat. His face flushed and his tunic stuck against his body. Clearly not use to manual labour.

“They need the road cleared” Thor trudged to another branch, taller than he and thicker than a barrel. “Grab the other side”

“There is no need to rush it” Fandral stretched; his back creaked painfully. “We should take a breather”

“You don’t have to help me” Thor heaved one end onto his aching shoulder. He gasped, his knees almost buckled under the weight but he held on.

They need to clear the roads for the supplies to come through. He needed to move the largest trees and rocks because he is the strongest. What would take three warriors to lift, he could lift on his own. So he must.

“Thor…” Fandral watched him dragged the ancient branch. “You’ve been moving them since before dawn”

“I am not tired” He threw the branch with the rest. “I need to help them”

“Stop” Fandral lids a hand over Thor’s hard shoulder. “You are helping. But you also need to help yourself”

“I am fine” Thor refuse to look at Fandral. He did not deserve his concerns or even his assistance. He did not deserve anyone.

What had he wrought?

He hurt his people and killed his Jotuns. His Jotuns that had escaped in the chaos were being hunted like animals through the mountains and Loki was to stand trial.

The thought of Loki's trial made him feel as if he had swallowed a spoonful of flies. Angry, agitated and sick. He could throw up.

_"There is nothing I can do. They will twist everything I say"_

He could not save Loki. He could never compete against hisbrothers. They knew his thoughts before he even knows it himself. 

He pushed Fandral’s fingers off him.

“They need help” He nodded towards the farmers struggling to push a boulder from mud.

When he returned to his tent in the evening, a hot basin of water was waiting for him with fresh clothes. His brothers' spies must have reported his whereabouts.

There was no one to help him out of his mud crusted clothes and boots. There was no one to wipe the dirt and grime from his hair and aching skin, or to massage his throbbing feet. He had sent them all away.

Dinner was venison, peas and potatoes with a jug of mead. The brazier on the far side of his tent crackled, throwing long shadows across his lonely tent.

Usually his nights were filled with music, women and entertainment. But tonight, the silence was deafening and his mind his eternal torment – replaying his failures, shames and guilt over and over again; never letting him rest.

The Lords cursing him as they were being dragged away to their death; their daughters spit at his face cursing him; their sons quartered; his Jotuns burning to death; the silly thing he said five weeks ago; his warriors whispering behind him, laughing; Jotun fucker, Jotun lover, the drunken fool...

He brought the cup to his lips and took another gulp.

 _Murderer._ _Liar._ _Traitor._

On rare quiet nights as these, Njord would usually fill his mind with stories of hidden treasures, adventures or glowing caves, singing forests and dancing elves. 

The thought of Njord thightened his chest. 

He could still remember the terrible noise. Njord gasping for air, wheezing through his open throat. The stink of raw open flesh... blood pulsating from his thigh, his open belly.  He could see Njord's intestines. 

He couldn't breath then. Couldn't think.

 _"Get my brother! Get his Majesty!"_ It was the first thing that came to him. His brother can fix this.

His hands were covered in blood. So dark, it was almost black. 

Mocking eyes, laughing ones. The Lords thought him amusing. The Ladies cooed to each other of his gentleness and kindness but did nothing. 

_"Help him!"_

The stable boy who found Njord had simply stared.

A young Lord pulled out a dagger.  _"Here...it will be quick. When a horse breaks its legs, you put it out of its misery"_

 _"Your Grace is so kind to a ugly brutish thing like this"_ A Lady said.

Somehow, Thor found himself standing in darkness before Loki.

Scarlet eyes almost seemed to glow in the shadows. A dozen sentries standing guard just beyond the thin tent.

For once Loki was silent.

“I wish I could do more” Thor said. He could not save Njord. Must he lose Loki too?

Loki shifted. The chains at Loki’s feet clinked sharply.

Thor stilled, as the shadow slide away to reveal a cold face. He could sense a hardness in the Jotun where once was an infuriating edge of mischief and playful taunts. It was as if a layer of mask had fallen off.

“You wish…” Loki whispered. “What use are your wishes when you have not the conviction to make them true”

“It is not for lack of conviction. I cannot -”

“Oh Thor. Do you really believe that?” Loki asked sweetly.

Thor stopped. Icy fingers caresses his face. There was nothing gentle in the gesture. It was as if claws were scraping him.

“What are you willing to give for your heart’s desire?” Loki asked.

“Stop this” Thor pushes Loki’s fingers away. His hearth thumped.

“Get me and Byleist beyond the mountain and I will give you all that you desire”

“What are you talking about? You know I cannot”

Loki smiled, that was more of a snarl.

Thor shifted uncomfortably.

“You desire respect and reverent no?” Loki reached to take Thor’s bulky digits. “Take us to Jotunheim Thor… and I will make certain you are exalted and more”

Loki brought Thor’s knuckles to his lips, except they were not his. Thor’s eyes widened at the cerulean of his skin.

“St-stop!” He wrenched his hand away, scrambling back. He looked down just to see pale cerulean creep away. “What sorcery is this?! His hands trembled. “What did you do to me?!”

Loki smile; a grin. “Do you trust me?”

Thor fled.  

 

 

* * *

 

  

“When will these savages learn?!” Lord Hermod slammed his fist on the oaken table.

 _A thousand years more they will not._ Vali looked at the map littered with red, blue, yellow and green markers.

“This was the twentieth farm this season?” Lord Raynor wasn’t quite sure. Between the constant travels, Thor’s disastrous campaign and feasting and whoring, it was difficult to keep track.

“Twenty sixth” Baldur corrected.

“Forget the farms. We need more reinforcement at our mines” Lord Hermod boomed. “If those resistance get their hands on our diamonds, how much more support do you think they can rally?”

“We have them”

“Jotun ones!” Lord sneered. “How long do you think it will take for them to betray us? How many spies do you think those bastard had snuck into the ranks?”

He did not trust a Jotun. It was madness. He had always thought it madness to have the Jotuns post as their guards. While he has no qualms with those bastards killing each other, he did not like arming them, much less have those bastards anywhere near their mines.

“The Jotun must see that we trust them. That we will give positions of respect to those who serve us. Or they will never accept us” Baldur said.

“Have them guard the farms then”

“They do” 

“They are not very good then are they?”

“What do you propose my Lord?”

“Send more of our warriors to Jotunheim”

Baldur’s lips twitched in annoyance. Lord Hermod may have fought in countless battles, but never on Jotunheim.

Even with the best fur coat in the warmest month, no Aesir can withstand the bone biting coldness for long. And they must withdraw in the winter months or the air would freeze their lungs. They cannot see in the blizzard or manoeuvre their unforgiving terrain. Almost nothing grows, but their tough grains.

It is a realm of ice, steel and blood.

No Aesir army can control the realm for long. If they ever hope to control Jotunheim, it must be with a Jotun army.

“Perhaps you would like to lead your faction to Jotunheim then” Baldur said.

Vali looked over to study Baldur.

Lord Reynor could see a glimmer of gold in Vali’s sapphire eyes. He could not quite tell if it was approval or disgust, but it was enough for him to know that Baldur’s words were not innocent at all. It was some sort of sentence.

“We need to weed these resistance out” Lord Hlif studied the green markers on the map. “They must be hiding somewhere”

“Bloody cowards!” Lord Hermod spat.

“They must hide in their mountain caves like trolls. We should send a party up there”

Lord Aren snorted. “Which mountain? There are countless of them on Jotunheim. The whole damn realm seemed like one”

Vali rose to his feet. “In over five centuries we have not figure out how they are vanishing into the snow, flank us and charge out unseen!” He said loudly, suddenly, cutting through the babbles. “If anyone has an idea of how this trick is done, let’s hear it” He looked over the silent chamber.

It was a bloody miracle that those of them who lead the charge on Jotunheim was even sitting on the table. But if they do not figure out this trick, they can never win.

“We should just point the bifrost at that wretched realm once we are finished with their diamonds” Lord Hermod sneered.

Vali gave him a sharp look.

Baldur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lord Hermod wants to burn the realm, Lord Hermod clearly does not know his King very well. Vali still has these silly notion of right and wrong in his head.

Baldur had once suggested genetically engineered viruses that targets only Jotun. They could give the antidotes to those who supported them. It was perfect. But Vali had rejected the idea. Apparently, the idea of their enemies emaciated and dying in their excrement was highly unappealing and wrong.

What difference does it make how they die?

Apparently it was wrong to annihilate your enemies with a single move, but perfectly fine to slaughter them in combat.

He would be surprise if Lord Hermod can convince his brother of a plan more extreme than his.

Before Vali could speak, there was shouting just beyond their tent. Thor burst in, the frighten sentry behind him.

Baldur could smell the mead that clung to Thor’s clothes like a perfume.

Vali’s eyes were hard. The Lords were silent. 

“Your Majesty! I tried!” The sentries panted, terrified.

“I need to speak to you” Thor said. His face flushed, he was shaking.

Vali’s fingers tightened over the edge of the table. “All of you, leave us”

No one needed to be told twice. Baldur seeped his ice water as the Lords shuffles out. He did not think it applied to him.

When they were well and truly alone, Vali heaved a tired sigh. He looked to age a thousand years in a second but smile for his little brother nonetheless.

“What is it Thor?”

“Why am I not invited to the council?” Thor fiddled with the edge of the map. “Do you not trust me?”

“When have I mistrusted you? You were always invited”

“But not to this one. I was not informed and you do not believe in the tales of enchantment because you made it up. So that was not it” He walked along the table to his brothers.

“It is unnecessary to burden you with these boring talks. There is nothing you can do”

“Is that so?”

“A five century mystery. We have yet to figure out where the resistance are hiding. How they are moving around unseen, evading out scouts and vanishing into thin air when surrounded” Vali motioned to the map. “Perhaps you could think of something we have missed. It is easy to do so once you have poured over the same idea with the same people”

Thor looked at the map.

“The greens are where they seemingly vanish” Vali said helpfully.

“The reds?”

“The attacks this season. Just some farms and minor mines and villages” Vali took the silver pitcher of mead and poured a cup. He held it up to Thor.

“What am I?” Thor asked suddenly.

The room stilled. Vali’s smile froze.

Baldur laughed. “What is this nonsense? What has that witch -”

“I am not speaking to you!” Thor spat.

Baldur swallowed his tongue.

Thor looked at Vali.

A heartbeat became two. Vali did not speak. And did not speak, and did not speak. The strained silence went on until it was more than Baldur could bare even though Vali was not looking at him.

“So it is true…” Thor’s voice shook. “Why didn’t you tell –”

“You are my brother” Vali said unwavering. “You are the son of Odin. The Prince of Asgard. What more is there to be said?”

“What _more?!”_  Thor said. “You knew I felt different all these years and you never told me why!”

“You are my brother. I wanted only to protect you”

“ _Protect me_?! Or father’s shame that he had a child with a Jotun! Did father rape my mother?!” Jotuns cannot love another race. It is known. He could taste the bile in his throat.

“Thor please –”

Thor shook Vali’s hand off.

“It all makes sense now!” He growled.  “Why you undermine me at every turn. Why you gave me no real position. No real authority and no warrior under my command!”

“You are out of line!” Baldur rose.

“Am I?!” Thor stepped back. “For all that you claim to love me, you fear me! You do not wish my success. You fear it! You can never have a frost giant at the head of an Aesir army!”

Baldur hit him. It was a slap. A sharp crack whipped, Thor stepped back.

“Stop it!” Vali grabbed him.

Baldur wrenched his arm from Vali. He had heard all he could bear.

By all the stars in the sky, Vali loved Thor. Not for his powers. Not for what he could become. But as he is _always._

Vali loved Thor so much that not even he could hope to compete. And for this damn half-breed to stand where he stood, flinging these vile at Vali, it sickened him.

“If you are _so_ dissatisfied. If you _hate_ us _so_ much, why don’t you just join them? I can put a collar on you if you like” Baldur spat.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Loki remembers a wide eyed child, with hair as white as snow and skin the paleness of raging seas. Eyes so pale, they were lilac in a certain light and face smooth like marble. They say he is winter made flesh. The Prince that was promised. Perfect and beautiful in every way. And he is, from a distance.

Take a step closer.

If one cared to look, they’d see the scars and scabs on those too little hands. A hardness in those large eyes and bitterness in a smile so misplaced on a child.

He remembers a child running laps in the courtyard when all lights were gone, a child that practiced archery till his little finger blistered and the strings were stained in blood. He remembers a child that swinging at practice targets until he could lift it no more and would do it all again the next day without complaints.

 _“I want to hear a song”_ The little voice would say, as he lay aching in his nest, letting Loptr clean the cuts and blisters on those shaking fingers.

_“I can get you the court musician if you like”_

_“No. I want you”_

_“I can tell you a story instead. They are just songs without a rhythm. How does that sound?”_

_“Are there warriors, dragons and little princes?”_

_“If you like”_

_“I want the warriors to save the little prince”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Little princes can be afraid too no?”_  

Loki closes his eyes as his ice charms prickled. He saw the vision of a misty courtyard atop a mountain again _._ His fingers tightened over the wooden cup.

 _“I am a weapon. And a weapon does not weep. A weapon does not beg”_ He is neither the first nor the last spy Jotunheim had sent to infiltrate Asgard in the guise of a slave.

Byliest had claimed to have betrayed dozens to their deaths.

He wondered if they’d died with their heads held high, looking upon their traitor prince. What do they feel, as they knelt upon the stone? Anger? Disappointment? Sadness?

What do they think of when the axe was raised behind their backs? What do they yearn, in that spilt of the second before their last breath? What do they see, when they close their eyes one last time?

Does it hurt?

He touched his collar. Hot thrum of seid hissed, wiggled and trashed violently, as if a thousand wriggling snakes and biting teeth. He pulled his fingers away. The misty courtyard appeared again.

 _“A soldier though and though. You will surely make my dam proud“_ He flung the wooden cup across the tent _._

It was midday when Thor stood at his tent again. His eyes were bloodshot, unsteady on his feet and even from across the tent, Loki could smell the reeking mead all over him.

“Have a talk with your brother did you?” His lips curled in undisguised disgust. There was no need to pretend to be courteous to a drunken fool that would likely not remember their conversation.

“You don’t like me very much” Thor mumbled.

“Unless you are here to get me out, you can get out” Loki turned away.  By sundown tomorrow he may stand condemn. He has no patience for another bout of Thor’s chatters of death.

Thor stumbled toward him and wrapped those sweaty arms about him.

The Aesir was heavy, swaying on his feet.

Loki’s lips thinned.

“Please” Thor kisses his neck, wet and sloppy. Kisses his shoulder, his ears, his jaws, like so many of his fat old slobbering patrons.

Thor was so close, he could smell the sourness of his breath.

“I want you” Thor slipped a hand under his tunic.

At once he grabbed Thor’s wrist, hard. “Do you want to give the guards a show?” His voice was ice.

“I don’t care” Thor kisses his cheek.

“Do you want me to flog you?”

“If it pleases you” Thor pressed his half hard cock against Loki’s side.

Loki felt himself responding. The idea was tempting. Separated by mere layers of leather, everyone would hear them. He could make him crawl and beg. Humiliate him… Shame him...

How would Vali like that he wondered.

He did not doubt the King would cover it up.

But oh… it would be worth it.

Vali could lie to the whole damn world, but he could not lie to himself. That his precious baby brother is an ergi that liked to be flogged. And the small folks would talk. Such gossip was too delicious to let die in the wind.

“Won’t you kiss me?” Thor touches Loki’s face, turning the Jotun to him.

Sapphire meets scarlet. Loki saw a child in a man’s form, seeking validation, seeking approval.

_Like Byleist to Vali._

Something terrible and sinister stirred in Loki. For a moment, he thinks he will do it. He wants to do it. He wants to play his fantasy and when he is done, he will gut him, slit his throat and defile his frozen corpse again with bloodied hands, kiss his cold dead lips and this time let Vali watch. That anguished face would be the sweetest sight he ever saw.

Loki pushed Thor away. “Get out”

Thor reached out. “Lo-”

“Don’t!” Loki spat, turning.

Thor stilled. His eyes were wet, his jaws tight. He pulled his hand back, uncertain.

“You hate me…” Thor sounded small.

 _Was there ever a doubt? You wear the face of my enemies._ Loki did not respond.

Thor turned and walked away, swaying terribly. He saw the wooden cup on the floor, almost falling over when he bends to picked it up.

“You drop this” He murmured.

Loki watched him place the lone cup on the table, watched him go on his unsteady feet. There was something so pitiful at the sight that a part of him wanted to call out, to tell him that he could stay.

No.

 _He is innocent…_ Loki thought and at once he wanted to laugh at such foolishness.

An innocent Aesir. Is there such a thing? And so what if he is?

 _Byleist was innocent too…_ His feet moved before he knew it. _I am no better than them. Why should I be?_  

He had never hurt and betray out of anger or scheme and rape out of vengeance…

_Why should I be better?_

He grabbed Thor’s arm, stopping him.

“Won’t you stay with me?” He asked sweetly.

His hands reached to cup Thor’s face, remembering all the times he had done it before, to lie and seduce the bumbling oaf.

“Come” He pulls Thor away from the entrance.

Thor followed him without protest. If his grip was a little tighter, if his fingers were harder, Thor must not mind or notice because he said nothing.

_I will take him from you, as you take Byleist from me._

He pushed Thor onto the scratchy mat.


End file.
